


Reshaping ... the perfect life as it is

by blueishdesire



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Established Relationship, Husbands, M/M, coping with reality, hard feelings, porn at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2019-10-26 23:09:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17755256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueishdesire/pseuds/blueishdesire
Summary: Now it’s only him. With memories. Thoughts. Images. Scents. Armie doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember his life. He doesn’t remember Timmy.When Armie loses his memory everything is turned upside down. Timmy doesn’t know how to get close to him and make him remember. They are husbands after all. Perhaps because of this it hurts even more.





	1. The broken ones

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been playing with this idea and writing it for like 5 months now – and I thought today if I don’t pull it today I may never do it. So here it is. Look at tags – they might give you some clues. Some good smut will happen at some point.
> 
> Huge and massive Thank you *timmy bow*  
> #Brooke @dreamofhorses for reading and proofing this for me!  
> #Lily because you kept on dealing with me!  
> #Sylvia because you were always there to cheer me up somehow  
> #And others as well who were supporting me with writing (which is very very hard for someone like me - especially with this amount of talented writers in this fandom)

His phone is buzzing on the table. The sound quiet … _almost_ , as if not exactly there, as if just some forgotten phone call from few hours ago. Unmoved sound still filling the silence of the room, breaking into him like knives pushed and twisted. Adding just more pain. He should answer it. He knows he should, though he lets the phone vibrate until it slowly fades, letting the silence circle her compassing arms around him. It won’t make any difference - not at this point. The phone starts again and he sighs. He wanted ... no he just needed some time to think. Why couldn’t they understand that?! Why it was him who needed to be the good part?! He knew it wasn’t Armie’s fault. Nor his. It just happened. He feels tears in his eyes, his throat now knotted. The pain still there. It might not be anyone’s fault. Still hurts like a bitch. The phone starts for the third time.

“What?” Timmy asks harshly, at this point he just doesn’t give a fuck who he ends up offending

“You need to speak with him Timmy” Nick’s voice is calm. Soft even. It’s just makes Timmy angrier. How people can act so damn calmly?! His world just turned upside down. He needs to be mad to survive all this chaos around him. Why couldn’t they understand it?! Why it’s him again?! Why he must be smart, why for the first time can’t he act like a child?! Get angry, scream, smash something.

“I don’t have to do anything” he answers coldly, unsteadiness of his voice betrays him. He can’t breathe. He tries to get the air inside, but it just doesn’t happen and oxygen isn’t there, in his bloodstream to keep him alive. Why should he be alive anyways? For who exactly?!

“Timmy you need to talk for fuck’s sake”

“He doesn’t know who I am Nick” he shouts, his angry whimper filling static air, reverberating in his ears “How the hell you want me talk with him when he looks at me as a stranger. I can’t survive this Nick! Not when the only person I love doesn’t know who I am. Doesn’t know that his fucking husband is standing here in front of him” he ends with voice thick with emotions. Tears coming down his cheeks, when he tries but fails to compose himself. He ends the call, switches off the phone. Doesn’t think, just stares, breathing shallowly. Maybe he will wake up and this all will be just a bad dream.

He had to pass out at some point, because the soft knock on his doors wakes him up. The second time it’s louder and Timmy gets up clumsily from the floor, wiping the dribble from the corners of his mouth while looming to the door. His foggy brain not entirely aware of situation, sleepiness slowly fading away, leaving him with pain. He takes deep breath, stealing just few more seconds before the door cracks open and Pauline surges forward, enveloping him in tight hug. He feels salty tears coming down his cheeks, before he can even think to stop them from coming. For a sake pretending of being fine. He isn’t. That only might break him even more.

They stay like this, warm emanating from her body is soothing, calming and he needs it like air. She grasps his baby hair on the nape of his neck and forces him to look straight into her eyes. He sees her through tears, her face in blur. Even with his glassy eyes he see clearly she feels sorry for him. He doesn’t want this, but there’s no strength in him left to say something. Anything. To pretend with his words and gestures that everything is fine, that his heart isn’t broken in thousand pieces scattered across the room. That this look on her face just makes him broken more. He lets her handle his body, following her like a puppet through strings that she easily pulls to right direction. His body is just numb pile of flesh, dead-weight to carry from one place to another. His wish to be sucked from this world is heavily consuming. To disappear and never come back, because reality is tearing him apart. His just wants this pain to stop. The only thing he can do is fall asleep. He closes his eyes and shuts away all thoughts, but even in sleep the pain doesn’t go away.

_He pulls threads of blond hair just a little, then allows his fingers brush against them, relishing the sensation, the non-existent weight on his fingertips. This isn’t new, but his heart still fill with warm that spreads, the lukewarm feeling all over him. Inside and outside. He cherish the weight of Armie’s body thrown over his chest, between his open legs. Stupid grin consumes his face, but this time he doesn’t fight with it. This is happiness – he finally realizes, placing small kiss atop of Armie’s hair, because he can, because he feels like doing something like this, because Armie loves him._

_Then Armie looks at him and for just a second that mutual love is there, clearly visible. He smiles. Showing his perfect teeth and his canines that Timmy just adores. This is who they are now. Friends. Lovers. Husbands. He lifts his hand to cup Armie’s cheek, but something changes and those blue eyes unexpectedly are looking at him with uncertainty. With astonishment and … dread perhaps. He moves away, away from Timmy, eyes still locked at him, but he doesn’t see Timmy. He looks at stranger._

_“Who are you?” the sound only above the whisper, almost indistinguishable from the white noise that shatters Timmy’s heart. Broken pieces that lays there, motionless, lifeless. The reminiscences of life that he once had._

He wakes up again. He doesn’t sprint forward, shaking like madman woken up from a nightmare. He just opens his eyes, lifting eyelids with effort, looks straight to the wall, painted with peachy tone of rose colour. They’ve chosen it together.

He lays there, his head on Pauline’s lap, breathing her scent deep into his nostrils with it trying to fade the memory of his dream. Resemblance with reality is too hard to just shrug it off as nightmare. Because just few hours ago he looked into those exact blue eyes and saw the same thing. His heart was ripped mercilessly from his chest, leaving just black hole. Full of shared memories. Thoughts that only their ears listened, images that only their eyes saw, scents only their minds could recognize.

Now it’s only him. With memories. Thoughts. Images. Scents. Armie doesn’t remember. He doesn’t remember his life. He doesn’t remember Timmy.

He lets himself be – just for a little while more. Focusing on Pauline’s fingers stroking his curls, lightly massaging his scalp. He concentrates on the texture of her fingertips beneath his skin, on her light touches, her scent surrounding him like a bubble. Sweet, subtle strawberry fragrance trapping him in a moment, in that one, precious second of peace. Vacuum. Immobility of molecules, particles. Absolute zero. Femtosecond of cherished time. He fails, as he would always fail, in holding onto this moment, grabbing it with greedy fingers. It easily slips through them. Continuity of life. Continuously moving forward. It’s oddly that in this particular time he remembers Einstein’s theory of special relativity that he ones learnt in school. That time depends on reference frame. As well like space. That’s distance is also just a relative of a matter.

Room is silent with only little noises that they both provide. Breathing, hearts beating in their chests, scratching of her nails. Two human beings captured in the same longingness. The same heart in their chest, the same mechanism pumping blood through their veins, the same pair of lungs inhaling and exhaling the air, the same muscles working beneath their skin. They’re so alike – the eyes, the hair, the posture. How nature could even create something perfect like this and then arm them with imperfections just by giving them minds. The system to create great things – theorems, poems, paintings, equations. To produce and vocalize opinions and believings. To learn, to explore. The same mind that can demolish. Annihilate everything in the vicinity. Destroy, shatter, break into pieces.

“Timmy are you ok?” her voice ripping through his thoughts, taking him back harshly almost brutally to the reality. Claws of pain clenching his body, bruising his soul, stabbing his heart. He wants to tell her that he is fine, even though it would be just a lie to calm her, to prevent she will be worrying about him. But his throat is knotted and his vocal chords are not working as he wish. His body is betraying him in this little attempt in pretending. That thought alone - that perhaps he won’t be whole again, that he will always be damaged, that he will be just fragments of his previous self put back together in a wrong way - that thought alone torns him apart.

 

* * *

 

He managed to send her home with the closest words to truth about his state.  He kissed her cheek, inhaling deeply her scent and pleading to calm their parents. He would break in an instant seeing his mom face twisted in concern and fear. He couldn’t deal with her pain. At least not now.

The apartment feels cold, not his in every possible way. He looks at the futon tucked behind the couch. The reminiscence of the previous weeks. The visible proof what his life has become.

Armie was send to home, with strict instructions to get rest and don’t be so hard on himself. Doctors said that the best options for him is to be back home, in the place with all his memories even though he couldn’t remember even one of them. Timmy agreed, wanting to be with him so badly. Armie felt awkward in his presence, uncertain and uncomfortable. Timmy would do anything to tell him everything, even the most stupid bit about their relationship, but he couldn’t. He should remember it by himself or at least that was what doctors said to him. He couldn’t blame them as well as he couldn’t blame Armie because he acted like stranger. Because every time Timmy touched him even slightly he moved away. Disturbed. Because sometimes he would catch him staring and when their eyes met, he quickly turned away.

Their apartment was small, space crowded with books, frames, clothes. There was even a place for this stupid vase they’ve got from Armie’s mom as a wedding gift. It looked horrible - red with odd patterns on one side while other was completely plain. The vase was tucked in the corner of windowsill. To prevent anyone looking at it.

Timmy knew they couldn’t sleep in the same bed. The good reason was that Armie felt uncomfortable with it, but Timmy was egoist and wouldn’t handle being in the same bed with him, not being allowed to touch, to caress, to be hold. They considered couch for a second - Armie wouldn’t fit but he said he could, perhaps for a sake to contradict Timmy or because sleeping in the same bed with a man was repulsing. Finally they decided that Armie will sleep in their bed, while Timmy in living room on the lent futon. Timmy hated that thing ever since.

He didn’t want to think about Armie. The only thing important in this moment that he is safe. He is with Nick, will probably spend next few days with him and he felt relieved by it. He needs to think about this whole situation. About what he should do, how he should react. Find the words – but how could he express something he didn’t understand. The feelings inside him. The pulls of his heart.

He grabs the opened box of cigarettes, snatching one of them and putting between his parted lips. He walks to small balcony and inhales deeply. Relinquishing the burning sensation of smoke in his lungs. He stares for few seconds at glowing tip. Smoking weed would be a betrayal. For time he stuck with those.

When consciousness slowly pushes away fogginess of his sleep, for the first time in hours he can feel his body. Not only as bones and meat, but as something connected, permanently attached to his mind, to his soul even. His lips are chapped and dry, his eyes are bloodshot and tired (although he slept for hours). His mind is buzzing and he just might take another shot with painkillers to stop massive headache from coming back. His stomach growls, involuntarily and when he thinks about last time he ate something it must be yesterday. He is not sure, he lost track of time and it didn’t really matter after all. Right now he doesn’t even have strength to put something edible in his mouth.

He lifts himself from the couch, stretching his arms and shoulders, his neck cracks in radio silence, his legs still numb and black dots appears in front of his eyes. He steadies himself, breathes deeply and opens them again. He should eat something, but he has no energy for this now. He just wants to sleep. Lay in bed under the blankets, block the light from outside, push thoughts away and with them all the pain, the wretchedness he feels now. Sleeping dreamless dreams for days. It’s the only thing he asks for.

He sighs relieved when bottle of some old (but not yet expired) painkillers finds his way to his hands. He will eat something tomorrow. He will shower and try his best to look normal, even though all his insides screams in pain.

The knock on the door startles him. He strictly told Pauline that he doesn’t want to see his parents. He somehow managed  her presence, this slowly sipping scent of her feeling sorry for him. It was just pure pain all over again. He will break into pieces as soon as he looks into his mom eyes. Their hugs, comforting words whispered to his ear to sooth him, calm the chaos in his head. Their warm looks, continuously repeated that everything will be ok. They will try to put him together, making him more teared apart than ever. And if it’s Nick?! He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to talk. He just wants to be alone.

The second round of knocking is louder and Timmy stands still, his hand on the door knob. He counts to ten trying to calm his nerves or at least his breathing. The doors finally cracks open and he sees there the last person he could think of.

“Armie” his voice is raspy, unused. He would like to sound more confident, more sure, but what it’s left in him it’s just not enough. Pretending is so fucking hard

“I … I will need some clothes” he says and the look he gave Timmy is just … no, he won’t handle more.

“Of course” he somehow manages to respond, allowing Armie to come inside, even though it’s their apartment, but he won’t remind him of that. There’s no point.

He just stands in the middle of living room like useless, worthless plaything. Too old to play with it again. To damage to keep in the box. Armie reappears 5 minutes later, his brown duffel bag in his big hand, gripping tightly the handle. Timmy never thought that it will end like this.

“I’m going to spend some days with Nick” he says, Timmy avoids looking at him. It’s just .. too fucking much “Then … I think we should talk

He says it so casually, nonchalantly like he is talking about weather. Something insignificant. Timmy feels more broken than ever.

“Whatever” he manages to whisper, because it doesn’t really matter right now.

Armie smirks. He fucking smirks and this is what it takes to ignite fire in Timmy. He tried. He fucking tried to be good. To be enough. It was never enough.

“You think it’s fucking funny, don’t you?!” his angry words echoing in the silent room, coming back to him with even more strength

“You put me in this! Do you really think it’s easy?! Not remembering this at all?! Do you really think it’s fucking easy listening to everybody, to my family, my friends, to you about our relationship, about how happy we were together and not be able to remember the smallest thing?!” Armie shouts, for the first time he lets pain away, releasing his angriness into the air between them, finally taking this out. Out of him, out of his mind, out of his system “Feeling this pressure to finally remember, to finally put some pieces together, to stop walking clueless, to stop worrying that everything I will say or do, will make you look at me with disappointment. It’s fucking hard to be around you with all those expectations you have, just because … just because you think I should remember it all. Because I don’t. Because the only thing I see is a stranger”

“Because it’s fucking easy for me, right?! Watching you as nothing had happened?! I thought we were going somewhere with this, but you just had to flirt with the waitress like an asshole you are, right?! To laugh straight in my face. Crush all my efforts. Smash them as irrelevant as they are for you” he knows his voice gives up and he sounds more wrecked than ever before. He takes one shallow breath, holding up tears, biting the inside of his cheek “Let me tell you something Armand. It’s not fucking easy to see the love of your love not recognizing you. It’s not fucking easy when your husband flinches and goes away with every small touch. It’s not fucking easy trying give him space, when the only thing you want is finally kiss him, feel the softness of his lips against yours, feels the tremble of the bottom lip, feel the tip of his tongue against your teeth. It’s not fucking easy. Not only for you”

Armie stares at him. Timmy just knows he said too much, that it’s too early for conversation like this, but for far too long he kept everything inside him. For too long he placed his feelings on the second place, focusing on Armie. On his feelings, on his well-being, sacrificing himself.

“Just leave” he whispers after a while. He doesn’t even wait, goes straight and swallows two painkillers with small amount of tap water. His brain somehow registers the sound of closed doors, but he doesn’t care. Not anymore. He wraps himself in the blankets on the couch, hoping that sleep will bring awaited relief.

 


	2. The lies and the half-truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things only  
> Thank you all for kudos and comments and all nice words. I'm baffled and can't get the right words to express how much.  
> I apologise for pretty late uptade - I guess life gets messy sometimes.  
> I hope that you will like how this story resolve.  
> Bless you all

Nights were restless. He couldn’t sleep, tossing around until he felt exhausted of not being able to let go. The first one was the worst. The sheets full of Armie’s scent, the bedroom full of his presence. He just laid there, in the middle of the king size bed, curled up in fetal position, tears running down his cheeks, the silent confirmation of his state. It took him another night like this one to gather enough courage to change sheets and ventilate the room. His favourite Armie’s sweater – tucked underneath the pillows – was now hidden in the drawer, as deep as Timmy could stuck it there.

He woke up barely few hours after Armie left their apartment. His scent still lingering in Timmy’s nostrils, making him sick - wanting to hold onto that and rid of it in the same time. He managed to stand up, feeling dizzy, black dots appearing in front of his eyes. He felt broken, crushed into thousands of thousands of pieces. He will never be the same again. He will never be whole again. The realization of this was coming into him in waves, drowning him further with each one. He stepped into the shower with his clothes on, hot water cascading down his body, when this whole situation finally broke him. Tears were running down his cheeks, his hair now dump sticked to his skin. There was no strength left in him to keep on fighting. No one to fight for. He thought giving up is easy, just making a decision that simply you don’t care anymore. Easy like throwing expired cheese from the fridge that was nudging you with the smell every time you opened it. But it’s not. It’s hard to let someone go, like tearing your own skin from your body, leaving the open wound that will never heal. The wound that will always be there, a constant reminder. He sat down, letting the water take his tears and all his feelings away, praying for this to stop. For finally feeling nothing. There was no one to hold him together, to share the warm of their own body with his shivering one. There was no one caressing his cheek, saying ‘ _it will be alright_ ’, even though it was the stupidest thing to say. There was no one taking his hand and kissing him gently, reassuringly. He was alone. All by himself. Shivering under hot water.

 

* * *

 

 

Work was the only thing keeping him sane. The constant knowledge of having things to do, pretending being _fine_ and hours spend in work were keeping everything at bay. It was Friday and he didn’t want to think about the weekend, about what he supposed to do with all this free time, about how he will survive this tightening feeling in his chest.

He was looking at his coffee, painfully aware of the silence surrounding him. He isn’t used to that. He will never be. He almost drowns in this sensation, in this overwhelming feeling of just _too much_. Too much of memories, too much of love, too much of pain. Too much of them. He closes his eyes just for a second and that’s all it takes.

_He hums, brushing his teeth still sleepy. His hair a total mess of unruly curls, one particular thread standing in the most funny way possible._

_“We should do something today” Armie says, spitting the residue of toothpaste in the sink, locking his eyes with Timmy’s in the mirror then bumping their hips in familiar gesture. Timmy smiles, his white t-shirt rumpled, his scent already stuck in the material. He moves toothbrush back and forth before responding_

_“What do you have in mind?”_

_“Oooh … I don’t know. I’m always all in for amazing sex marathon” smirks escapes Timmy’s mouth and Armie glance at him with pointed look, raising his brows “But I wanted to try something new. For a change”_

_“For a change” Timmy parrots in a happy way, his toothbrush in his hand, when he leans closer to Armie “Something interesting I suppose”_

_Armie smiles and then just like that closes the distance and kisses Timmy’s lips. The mint toothpaste still on their tongues._

 

Of course they weren’t a perfect couple. They had fights. The petty ones and big ones. The stupid ones and those about money. It was good. A constant reminder that after all they both were just humans with all their faults and imperfections. In the other hand they needed to make out after all those fights and if one of them was bent over with the  dick deep in the other ass … well then it was all for better.

They were not perfect. They both had their own habits, little things to be done in this exact way. Like Armie using only one type of toilet paper (making a fuss for over an hour when Timmy bought the ‘wrong’ one). Or that Timmy drinks his morning coffee with Italian cream and he won’t get up from bed on Saturday morning if there’s no Challah bread in the kitchen. They were always trying, after each and every fight to be less crazy and more civil with these kind of things. They both sucked at cleaning so they’ve figured out to clean on every Saturday afternoon (after Timmy had his coffee with Challah bread in bed lying under covers and Armie had his workout done). Perfect with their imperfections.

Timmy particularly remembers the Christmas Eve 2 years ago. For the first time they decided to make something for their family. Prepare the feast and host their parents, Pauline and Armie’s brother (who at the end didn’t show up). Just this small gathering, but it was huge thing for Timmy, he wanted to impress them – especially Armie’s parents (or just mother, because his father was happy whenever food was involved, just like Armie). He remembers that vividly. It was just huge mess, constantly trying to improve something. Checking, checking and checking and driving Armie crazy. Armie with his all indifferences was driving him crazy as well, which ended up in a big fight soon before they guests were about to come. It all started when Timmy said it should be all prepared at 5 and Armie snapped at him that it didn’t really matter when it all be ready, because no one gives a shit about that. It was one of the worst Christmas he had in his life, pretending that everything was fine and great, throwing fake hearts and kisses during the evening, just for sake of Christmas spirit and reluctance to ruin others night. After all he felt exhausted, tired and worn. He didn’t want to talk, wasn’t feeling well enough to start discussion that might lead to royal blow of a fight. He just crawled in bed, closing his eyes, waiting for sleep. They had amazing, lazy morning sex the next day. Armie’s legs wide open, when Tim was pushing and pushing and pushing until they both were just mess of entangled limbs. The scent of come strong in their nostrils, when Armie flipped them, leaning over Timmy’s body, covering him all, kissing him sweetly on the lips. Whispering softly ‘I’m sorry’, placing small kisses on Timmy’s cheeks, his nose, his eyebrows. Timmy knew he overreacted, that it was about being together, smiling, laughing. Being just happy. He moved his tongue across Armie’s lips, up and down, holding onto this moment. ‘I’m sorry’ he said, looking straight into Armie’s eyes, hoping with every fibre of his body that it’s more than only words.

 

* * *

 

 

The phone started ringing, buzzing louder in seconds, pushing aside memories, leaving the sensation of loss itching every inch of his skin. He looks at the screen, staring at familiar face, debating if he should answer or wait until it stops.

“Didn’t I promised you to call and not the other way around?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant, casual maybe

“I just wanted to know how ..”

“I’m fine Pauline” he interrupts her. Feeling sick instantly of the incoming question. The same one, repeated all over again from different mouths. From her, from his parents, from his friends. He knows - he really does - it’s because they care. Because they love him. The hard part is pretending you’re fine when you’re only shell of a human. The body with flesh and bones empty inside. Just a moving corpse.

“I’m just going to work, so I’ll call you later” he adds, ending the call before she has a chance to ask more questions, to even say something more. He needs the normality. As much as they want help him, they’re doing exactly the opposite. He locks the door and leaves the building with a sigh. He doesn’t want to think about tomorrow. About Saturday morning. And afternoon. And evening. About that huge amount of time to think. He doesn’t want to think.

 

* * *

 

 

He knew Nick will show up at some point. He consciously didn’t answered or returned his phone calls or texted or ignitied any kind of contact with Nick. It was a clear message to just leave him alone, but here he was. In front of their apartment (or perhaps only his now, he isn’t sure about that), leaning over brick wall, cigarette hanging from his mouth, flame-shadow dancing on his cheeks.

“I thought it’s clear that I didn’t want to talk. With you” he punctuates the last word, it reverberates in silence that hangs between them like an axe.

“But we need to talk Tim”

He’s right, he obviously is and Timmy knows that. Knows that thank you very much, but it’s too soon and not too soon at the same time. Because he doesn’t want to hear it and because he’s dying to finally know. Because he can’t go like this forever, but he doesn’t want to move forward, move from this limbo he’s stuck in. Because he doesn’t want to change anything, he just wants his life back, how it was before. The truth is nothing will be the same. He is painfully aware of that, but he can’t just stop.

“It’s five days Timmy. We really need to talk”

When they are climbing the stairs, he’s going first and Nick just after him as if fearing that Timmy might escape and lock the doors and not open them again, some part of Timmy is relieved that it’s finally happening.That decision was made without him, lifting some weight of his shoulders. Because even if you crave to stay in that moment, hold onto it, just because it’s a known pain, a known feeling, time doesn’t stop. Sooner or later you have to move forward. Life doesn’t stop in their tracks when your heart is broken. Sun comes up and goes down as usually. Stars shine brightly in the night and people around you - on the street, on the coffee shop you regularly go, on the queue in supermarket - don’t know. As it painful as it might be they even don’t care.

“So … ?” he says almost casually, looking at Nick expectantly when they both just stand like this

“Right” Nick says, averting his gaze from where Timmy is “It was all better before I came and I don’t really know where I should start”

Timmy smiles. It’s a genuine smile and he surprises himself. It feels good and odd at the same time. Weird in that special way, because you know this feeling, this happiness that was inside you provoking all those smiles, all those happy grins and laughs showing too much teeth. But it’s not there anymore, so the smile just doesn’t fit.

“You want some beer?” he asks. It’s not his fault and even though Timmy would be really grateful if Nick just decided to stop all this and go home, he doesn’t want to make it harder. It’s hard enough, perhaps for him even more as he has to deliver the news. Besides, after all this week, after all his day in work, Timmy wouldn’t mind some beer and companionship. Perhaps it’s good Nick is here, he doesn’t need to pretend in his presence that he’s fine, he doesn’t need say all those words that they’re expecting him to say even though he doesn’t feel that way. Maybe it’s time to just speak, say to the air, let the wind take it, release him from it.

They go to the balcony, sitting on wooden boxes with beers in hands. Timmy offers him a cigarette and they smoke quietly for some time. The white fog floating between them, disappearing in front of their eyes with no effort. Timmy wants _this_ to be like that. That easy, that effortless, that untroubled.

“After he came back that night he didn’t want to say a word about it. He was pacing my living room back and forth without uttering the word and it was the most confusing state I’ve ever seen him. He can’t shut up when anything bothers him” the silent _‘we both know that’_ stays unsaid, hanging between them unspoken “It was bizarre. He was just moving and moving and moving and I literally had no idea what I should do. He stopped abruptly at some point, like something switched in his brain, because he plumped next to me on the sofa. We stayed like this. For hours I think, because the next thing I remember he said he needs his clothes and he left just like that. Without saying anything else.”

Timmy doesn’t know where Nick pretend to go saying all this to him. It’s not like it matters.

“But you called me Nick, saying I should talk with him?” Timmy asks confused

“Yeah. I didn’t know what to do honestly. He was pacing the room almost like a madman, he didn’t say a word. I thought that maybe you …” he trails off, making a wave gesture with his hand. Timmy knows what he’s trying to say and it hurts. It hurts because it’s not the same anymore “And then he came here”

He ends like that. It says everything that should be said at this point. Nick knows what was said between them that night.

“You should talk”

Timmy sighs. He knows that. He really, really knows that. But staying in the limbo, in this _between,_ without moving forward seems safer. Just staying like this. Pretending. Fooling himself that it’s fine. That he’s fine. The pain is still there, no matter how hard he tries. Digging in his body, claiming every cell.

The beer is forgotten in his hand, he tries to think for something to say, but again words fails him. God – if he exists – has really a rare sense of humour. Timmy remembers suddenly what it was like this after their first, big fight. Sitting on the balcony with beers in their hands. Silence stretching around them like elastic band. It’s odd sensation. Unreal even. They both were just too stupid to admit their mistakes. It made them realize that they need to speak to one another, communicate and not silently trying to convey what they truly wanted.

“I know what you said to him. And I know what he said to you. I also know shit about it, I was never it your position and I don’t want be. Ever. It might sound harsh and rude, but you need to understand him …”

“Stop this shit” he cuts him off, anger bubbling in his veins suddenly, he stand up, spilling some liquid onto his jeans “Why the fuck it’s always me. Me who needs to understand. Me who needs to makes things easier for him”

“Geez Timmy listen to me” Nick says, his voice strong and certain. Timmy turns to face him “I know it’s fucking hard for you and I can only imagine how hard. I’m not saying that you should be the wise one, walking on eggshells around him, making things easier for him. I’m only asking if for just once you can put yourself in his shoes. I know he behaves like an asshole, but we both know he does this every time he’s unsure with something, uncomfortable. Relationship with you changed him, but he doesn’t remember this now, so he goes with the mechanism he’s known all his life.”

Timmy knows it’s true. He fucking knows it, but it doesn’t make things easier instantly. It doesn’t change his feelings, his current state. The universe doesn’t suddenly turn upside down.

“It’s not his fault he doesn’t remember it” Nick continues, staring now at the ground, avoiding Timmy’s gaze perhaps, fearing that he might be to honest, pushing to hard “It’s not yours, I know that, be he’s just … lost. In all this shit. You know what you want, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to do, how he goes from here to anywhere because honestly Timmy he has no fucking idea where to go”

Perhaps he needed that. Just one person that would say like things are, plain and simple. Maybe that’s the turning point. The world will change, but for some time now it wasn’t the same. Not anymore. It will never be. Not for him. He blinks couple of times, breathing evenly, remembering the day when Armie kissed him for the first time. They were talking in the kitchen (in Armie’s apartment), they game meant to start in half an hour. They were relaxed, comfortable around each other. Suddenly without any warning, Armie pinned him to the counter, his hands on the each side of Timmy’s body. He squealed surprised at the sudden movement, his body rigid in matter of seconds, his heart beating fast and hard in his chest, as if in anytime it will break and leave his ribcage. Armie kissed him then, hard on the lips and Timmy did everything to deepened  the kiss.

He is not sure why this particular image appears in front of his eyes. Vivid as if it happened only yesterday. Perhaps as reminder that he can’t give up so easily. That he need to try, because _they_ are worth fighting.

“What are you suggesting?” Nick head snaps upwards, looking at him somehow incredulously, like he can’t quite believe Timmy said that. Like he came here to try, but wasn’t expecting anything in return.

“Ummm … I was thinking that you should start all over. I mean … you put pressure on him, you wanted him back and he was pushing you further away with every new effort you made. Maybe you should see him as Armie. Not the guy you dated, not the guy you were living with, not the guy you married. But this guy that doesn’t know you, that is lost with his emotions and doesn’t know how to deal with this.”

“So you’re basically saying that I as well should forget everything what we went through together and pretend that there was nothing between us?!”

It’s not fair. He knows that, yet he can’t stop the words. He can’t stop himself. Because Nick is the only person that he can be honest with. The only one he can say all this shit too and he won’t treat him like a broken one, even though he is. Perhaps after all he also is an asshole.

“Listen” Nick finally utters, standing up and facing him “I have no fucking idea what this is to you and I’m not playing here to role of unsensitive dick, wanting all the best for my only friend Armie. So cut that shit right here. You’re my friend as well and I want you to be happy. But I also know that you should go slow with him and again I’m not saying that what you have to do is treating him like a kid, be always easy and gentle. If you have problem with what he’s doing or how he’s behaving, say this to him straight in the face. He needs to know that, otherwise nothing will change. I also know that he isn’t in the right place in his head now and maybe … maybe taking baby steps would be better than shouting, screaming and cursing each other. Treat him like you treated Armie when you first met. When you still were friends and nothing else, before it all changed. Think about it” he adds at the end. Giving Timmy one last stare before leaving.

_Fucking asshole you are Timmy._

 


	3. The small talks and big gestures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - I'm so so so so sorry for this super late update. It was meant to be up last weekend, but I didn't have much time and then my week was just bad and sad and I wasn't around at all. But it's here now and I hope no one will be disappointed where this story is going.  
> Second of all - BIG MASSIVE thank you for all kudos and comments and everyone that told me a nice thing about this fic. It means a world and a lot more to me.  
> Third thing - I've tried to end writing it sooner but turns out it doesn't work like I want to, so the next update might be not not so soon - it won't take months I promise.  
> Also it's chapter 3 of 6 - we're close!

Timmy thought about Nick’s words all night, tossing around, crumpling the sheets. Some part of him - the hurt one, the stubborn one - wanted to forget about it. Wanted to blame Armie for everything, because it was easier. Blaming someone that already hurt you, punishing them for things they have no control about. The other part - the rational one - knew that they needed to talk, scream and blame each other or solve their problems, he wasn’t sure, but the talk was needed. 

He texted Nick on Saturday morning and went with his suggestion to meet somewhere neutral for both of them, as to not add any more pressure. Perhaps that’s why he is standing here, freezing his ass off, terrified to take that last step and come inside, trying to think positively about it. Anticipating another bad Saturday night. What if this all will just go bad, so so bad that there will be nothing left to say besides writing down their signatures on divorce papers. What if they won’t solve anything and they will part - amicably perhaps - but with this odd feeling in their chests that things were left unsaid. What if …  _ oh, stop it _ !   He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose. His hand on the door. Now or never, he thinks as he enters.  

It’s still too early to be crowded, but some tables are occupied, the songs are playing softly in the background allowing effortless chatting, it will later grow louder as night will go wilder and people drunker. Dim light overtakes the place, casting shadows everywhere Timmy’s eyes follow, unmistakably seeking. His heart beats unsteadily in his chest. He isn’t sure it’s because he anticipates that Armie won’t show up or exactly the opposite. He exhales slowly when finally his eyes caught Armie’s silhouette. He can’t be missed. He stands out – not only because of his height (6 ft 5 in it’s not common among ordinary people), but also because of his wide shoulders, muscled neck, and huge biceps. It’s all on display. Back in time, Timmy couldn’t understand how he got so lucky to have all this for himself. For his own pleasure. Now … he’s better not to think about those aspects at all. The things aren’t the same and even though Armie still wears his wedding ring, the commitment they did isn’t longer on the table or at least not in the same way for both. His fingers circle around his own ring instantly and he wonders for just a second what he wants to achieve with this meeting. Some sort of closure? Clear the air perhaps?! He wants Armie and he wants to fight for him, for this relationship, but he can’t fight  _ with _ Armie. If he doesn’t want this … then there’s no point on trying to make him want it. Armie will just distance himself from Timmy. For a moment he isn’t sure if it was a good idea after all. Coming here.

He finally moves, closing distance between them. He tries to steady his breathing and his heartbeat, but his body doesn’t listen to him. Betrays him, because all it takes is to be near him, breath the same air with his aroma lingering beneath layers of other scents. 

“Hi” he says softly, unsure, looking Armie in the eyes, sitting next to him.  _ ‘Just be yourself’ _  he thinks, reminding himself that he should act cool, not putting any pressure on Armie. Pretend that he barely knows him, talk about everything. Even though he knows this man like a palm of his hand. Every curve, every delicate line, every little scratch are memorized, fucking imprinted in his brain, cataloged like little bubbles of ideas that can pop out suddenly and just make you smile. 

“Hello” Armie responds, his voice restrained as if still not quite believing he said yes to this. Perhaps he doesn’t believe Timmy agreed as well. Their last talk … it wasn’t talk at all. Just screaming accusation all over each other. Shouting to hurt with the truth. Or perhaps their own version of it.

Armie sips his beer silently, Timmy doesn’t know where to start a conversation and it starts to become awkward, in that precise way Timmy was afraid before he came here. He shouldn’t have listened to Nick. He was better in his apartment, lying in bed all day, wondering without taking any real action to step out from this limbo. But he is here now as well as Armie is. Perhaps he should just stop thinking (maybe even overthinking as he always tends to) and just be.

He orders vodka with coke, knowing that with alcohol everything seems better. Now he can occupy his hands with something and even if this evening would turn to another disaster at least he would be drunk.

“How’s your week?” he asks casually, taking one big gulp of his drink, relishing the sour taste of vodka after sweet one of coke disappears on his tongue. It’s good. 

“It was fine … I guess” even with the music he can hear that Armie’s voice is a little bit unsure. Like he too isn’t quite confident as to how to handle this situation. It makes Timmy smile, perhaps it’s egoistic but he likes the idea that they both feel equally uneasy “Nick can sometimes be … a little overwhelming”

Timmy smirks and he can feel that Armie looks at him surprised. He does everything in his power to not look at him. He doesn’t want to intimidate him. Other than that he is sure that if he looks at Armie, he will just get lost in those oceanic blue eyes. He missed them. He still misses them. He doesn’t look, at least not now, later maybe, deciding to focus on the safe topic. Nick is the safe topic and maybe somehow they will manage to talk normally, like friends they used to be before everything went to rot in hell.

“Oh yeah he can easily turn into that overwhelming state when he refuses to hear ‘no’ as an answer to any of his brilliant ideas” he laughs at the end because there are so many stories he remembers when Nick was behaving exactly like this. Ones that annoyed him to no end and when he thinks of them now he can’t quite believe they are real, the others just make him smile because of the level of stupidity and craziness they include. Armie laughs as well and he wonders for a while if it’s a genuine smile, because he remembers Nick in that way and has memories of that state before he met Timmy. Or it’s just because he wants to be polite. Either way, Timmy doesn’t want to think about that, at least not at the moment.

With a smile glued to his face, he asks a bartender for another one. He makes a note to himself to drink the next one slower. He doesn’t feel tipsy, just more relaxed and happy. He knows it’s alcohol. Barman smiles back, making eye contact with him. Timmy leans closer to hear what guy wants to say to him.

“Thanks man, but I want another one of this” he responds pointing his finger on the empty glass near to his elbow. It’s a little bit annoying, but it’s also a good distraction, so he doesn’t mind that too much. He shifts on his seat slightly, directing his body towards Armie, but without looking at him directly.

“I remember that one time when he was nudging me constantly to read his ‘book’” he starts again, making quote marks in the air, focusing on the story, not on the person to whom he tells it “It was a constant pain in the ass. And even after I’ve read that dread thing, he wouldn’t, believe me, it’s not material for a real book”

“Right … you’re an editor” Armie says it just like that, like he just remembered it, like the words feel weird on his tongue, somehow unsuitable because he was betraying himself and his decision in not to engage himself in the conversation. Revealing that he knows something about Timmy, makes Timmy’s heart skip a bit and he has to hold himself before a huge smile eats his face. ‘ _ Baby steps’ _

“Yeah and he wouldn’t believe me. He left me alone when he decided that after all he doesn’t want to be a writer” he laughs genuinely, feeling as alcohol does its work in his bloodstream and he’s more and more at ease. He just let himself be, right now in this place, not thinking much about Armie sitting next to him and that they’re talking somehow without this awkward vibes surrounding them. It’s new and Timmy likes it.

Warmness spreads inside of him when after some silence Armie starts talking. Timmy knows the vespa story, he heard it thousands of times from both of them, he just lets him speak, smiling to his own drink, indulging himself in a way Armie tells the story, how he engages in the process. It’s good to hear his voice relaxed, trying to make conversation going and it’s good. Really, really good. Besides its funny story, that always makes him laugh and he always gets some new bit of what happened. Perhaps this evening won’t end badly.

 

* * *

 

He has his third drink in his hand and he feels dizzy. He laughs and smiles and feels genuine happiness spreading like warmness when you enter from the cold outside to your heated home. They’re just talking, but it feels like more. Much, much more. Perhaps because they’ve lost that ability after what happened, somewhere in the half-way they both forgot about the benefits of small talks. Armie’s accident, his recovery, coming back home, walking around each other on tiptoes and everything in the middle of this that lead them to their disastrous date and aftermath of it. The whole week, when Timmy tried to feel normal again but repeating again and again that he’s fine, didn’t work at all.

“Oooh I remember that” he says, playfulness rolling from his tongue like candy. This evening resemblance the ones they had when they were still friends. Coming to some pubs – talking, drinking, smoking. Sometimes they ended up in Armie’s apartment with a bottle of whiskey and few joints that they just shared. It was all simple, easy. Timmy likes it, it allows him to restore the balance because at least they share these memories. Maybe Armie doesn’t remember Timmy, but they both remember the same things. It’s reassuring, but Timmy doesn’t want to put much hope into it. It’s a good evening, he wants to keep it that way.

He watches liquid swirling in the glass, small ice cubes hitting the edges, but the sound is muffled by music.

“Why … why didn’t you say anything about us tonight?” Armie’s voice is suddenly serious, there’s a real question hanging in the space between them. Timmy’s mind foggy with alcohol, he clears his throat, giving himself some time before answering.

“Because it’s not a good thing to do. You said it yourself  _ ‘too much pressure’ “ _ the answer is simple and he hopes Armie won’t drill the matter

“Yeah, I did but … but maybe if you say …” Armie struggles with words, gripping the tall glass tighter in his hand, he knows what he wants to say, but the words are hard to come. Once you say them, you can’t take them back. He doesn’t want to ruin this, but he needs to know  _ why  _ “You … won’t say anything about us, about our past, about our memories” he finishes and Timmy can feel the tension growing. It’s not so simple and easy anymore. Armie is staring at him expectantly, he knows that, but he can’t look at him right now “You want us to be together, but you don’t say a thing why we were together. Not even one story” Armie adds harshly

“Because I don’t want to just tell them to you. I don’t want to look at you and see that there’s nothing. All of these are our memories, even though you don’t remember. I can’t just sit and tell you everything about us because you won’t believe me. And I want to remember them as I do now. If I say them to you they will be just stories. Just stories.”

He’s aware it doesn’t make much sense. But he just can’t do this. Yes, it would be easy, sit with Armie and tell him everything. How they were friends in the beginning, how they become something more, how they ended up married. But for Armie it would be just a story, something that happened to someone else, not to him and Timmy just knows he couldn’t survive the lack of recognition in Armie’s eyes.

“That sounds even more stupid at loud than in my head” he adds after few seconds of silence, he laughs to release the tension, but it just sounds fake even to his own ears “Fuck” he mutters under his breath.

Half of his drink is now on the counter, the glass is on its side as he quickly pulls it upright.

“Sorry” he says sheepishly to the bartender, who returns the smile, shrugs and he just wipes it with his cloth “I’m … gonna go to the bathroom” he needs to wash his hands, it’s all sticky and unpleasant. Putting some distance between them will be welcome as well. He pops down from high stool, his eyes focused on the ground when he just walks away.

He’s a little surprised that there’s no queue to the bathroom, but perhaps it’s still too early for everyone to occupy them. He tries to close the door, but there’s a pressure from the other side and before he can even curse, Armie steps inside and all thoughts disappear from his mind.

“What are – “ he starts, but in the next second his is pinned to the sink, Armie’s big hands on his hips and he can’t think what he wanted to say in the first place. It’s the first time they’re so close to each other after the accident and Timmy just can’t think straight. Armie’s presence is overwhelming, he wants to feel all of him against his body, dive in the exquisite and divine scent of Armie.

“I don’t get you” he utters more to himself than to Timmy, closing the distance between them, Timmy swallows the moan escaping from his lips when Armie’s hips touch his “One night you shout that you’re pissed as fuck because you want to kiss me, put that pinky tongue of yours in my mouth and today you don’t even look at me, fucking flirting with the bartender in front of my eyes”

Timmy hears him, but his mind is foggy not only because of the alcohol. He doesn’t remember last time he and Armie were that close to each other. So fucking close that he could feel Armie’s breath on his face. Some part of his brain knows he should stop this, put some distance between them, that it’s just not a good idea. But the other one, as well as his body, just crave it. Needs it like air to breathe, starving for the slightest touch to feel complete.

“Please.  _ Armie _ ”

It’s a plea. His voice not louder than a whisper, his lips parted, his eyelids half open. The scent of Armie surrounding him like air. Then Armie’s lips are on his and he just forgets.

The kiss is tentative at the beginning, just press of lips like Armie isn’t quite sure what to do. His lips are warm and chapped, so Timmy just loses himself in the familiarity of it, his tongue darts forward licking Armie’s bottom lip. It’s like a switch. This swift, simple movement changing something in a heartbeat. Armie tugs him closer, kissing him hungrily as if Timmy’s mouth possessed all the air. He presses their bodies closer, his tongue insistent and demanding in his mouth and Timmy just follows, his hands in Armie’s hair, scratching the scalp lightly with his fingertips. It gets messy and sloppy, all teeth and tongues and on some point, Armie just lifts him up and the only thing normal to do for him is to wrap his legs around Armie’s waist.

“Oh god” he mumbles, a soft moan escaping his lips.  

 


	4. The memories and the new beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what I should say - I'm forever grateful for all comments and kudos and hopefully what happens in this chapter and what will be in next ones won't disappoint.   
> Only two more chapters and the next one is already long and huge! I'll try my best to update it in the next week.  
> Thank you again!

The memory of the first time he fucked Armie is still vivid in his memory. That soft breath to his ear followed by Armie’s plea in a broken voice. The whimpers that were leaving his mouth when he fingered him open, pushing one then two fingers. Sharp inhale when his middle finger found his prostate and pushed gland of nerves with a purpose. The way his eyes looked staring at him under those long eyelashes. Pupils blown, the typical oceanic blue consumed by black, leaving only a thin strip around the edges. That first loud hiss of pain when Timmy pushed his cock in the tightness of Armie’s ass, followed by the breaths when he stilled himself, counting to three. Eyes closed, breath hitched, his whole body vibrating in wait. The harsh ‘ _ move’  _ making his hips roll on their own accord. The way Armie captured his mouth at some point, hand firm on the back of Timmy’s neck, holding him there still. When he said softly  _ ‘slower’ _ while spreading his legs further, making Timmy sink deeper.  _ ‘Fuck me slower. Make it last’.  _ Timmy wasn’t sure if he could do that. The pressure building in his chest, the ache spreading in his abdomen, when he tried to hold back. He pulled almost all the way back, breathing heavily straight into Armie’s open mouth as he pushed deliberately, so fucking slowly he thought his brain will blow in any second. He found the rhythm, somewhere in the middle of the next push. Armie’s moans and whimpers encouraging him to go even slower and deeper with each trust, changing angle just slightly to hit that spot on various parts. Pulling and pushing tantalizingly slow, until Armie was writhing mess underneath him. Until he came hard between them when Timmy just swiped his thumb over cockhead. Timmy was addicted to that sight ever since.

This kiss feels like that first time. When Timmy tried – still uncertain – if he could hold back. It’s all familiar. The way Armie cups his cheek, press the pad of his finger against his jaw angling his mouth. How he slowly deepens the kiss with his tongue, wet and insistent now in Timmy’s mouth. Though it’s foreign in others. They way he thrust himself on Timmy, his left-hand curling on Timmy’s hip, absentmindedly – perhaps – lifting the hem of his t-shirt, making skin to skin contact that causing Timmy to shudder with pleasure.

Armie moans softly in his mouth, the sound reverberating in his inside, going straight to his cock that is half hard right now. Strangled, choked out noise leaves him when Armie presses his lips hard on his pulse, sucking with force. Purposefully leaving a hickey.

“I want you” he breathes, a puff of air nuzzling hot skin on his exposed throat. When did he throw back his head ?! Armie’s voice is hoarse, guttural. Timmy never heard him like this. Almost wrecked because of just a kiss “I wanted to feel you” he says, biting Timmy’s earlobe, forcing him to moan even louder when he puts the earring between his front teeth and dragging back.

“Fuck” Timmy hisses when Armie licks the ring then proceeds to lightly scratch his teeth on his skin

“I wanted to lift you up, put over my shoulder and walk out. Make him see that you’re mine” whispered to his parted lips a second before Armie dives in again, shoving his tongue inside his mouth as if it belongs there

 

* * *

 

The idea that Armie might not love him never crossed his mind, but after the accident everything changed and he wasn’t certain anymore. Not when he was jerking back with even the slightest touch when he wouldn’t stay alone in the same room, not when he looked at him as Timmy messed him up, ruined his life. Because he was married to a man and not a woman. It’s not a surprise that he finds immense satisfaction in Armie’s jealousy. The sweet waves of warmness flooding his body, making every cell vibrant. 

Life is not that easy. It’s not an equation to solve, too many variable changes, too many things to consider. It’s not like finding ‘x’ in math class and looking at the end of the book if you got the correct answer. Calculating once again when you got that one wrong. There are always consequences. His body is throbbing with need, it oozes out of him, sipping like thick honey. Armie’s tongue is in his mouth again, wet and perfect, melting him from the inside out. But there is something there. Itching, making him focus. Like a splinter in the sole, that you can’t forget, because you feel it with every move you make. Timmy knows what it is, even when he tries really hard to forget and for the first time in years just let go. But he can’t. Life is not that simple.

“Stop” he says, placing both hands on Armie’s chest and pushing him backward “Please stop” he repeats more insistent this time.

Then they’re both just standing like this. Panting hard, looking at each other. Timmy does know that stare, a soft smile appears on his face when he sees in what state Armie is. Lips red and swollen, pupils blown, hair disheveled. Timmy really, really wants to bury himself in this soft giant, to be surrounded by him. Encompassed by him. Shield from the world as only Armie can. This is the hardest part, to push Armie away and not only speak but make him understand. How he can even manage that if he doesn’t understand. It’s not how it supposed to be. Life’s not easy. Not in the slightest.

“Look” he says finally, breaking the silence. He wishes right words will just come, but his mind is buzzing with thoughts, the sensation of Armie against him vivid on his skin. Just his presence is overwhelming and Timmy needs to stay in control of his own body. And feelings. He curls his hands, nails digging in the flesh, he bites the inside of his cheek, counting to ten, before any sort of control disappears and he will jump directly on Armie and kiss him senselessly. 

“Listen” he tries again, holding back memories flooding his mind when he shamelessly climbed Armie like a tree, rutting against his body in full lust “I think we should talk first … about everything” at loud it sounds even more stupid and he groans frustrated.

 

* * *

  
  


Timmy used to like being alone. Of course, he enjoyed being out with his friends. Drink and laugh, sometimes get stupid photos or say stupid things to strangers. To take down a massive amount of shots and hit the floor with the most cheesy music. But there was something enthralling in lonesomeness, like separating yourself, fragmentalazing. There was no room for pretending, for hiding what you really are. As someone once told him lonely is not a character trait. It’s a transient state. You’re not lonely. You can get lonely. 

It was all different with Armie. They could share the silence, laying next to each other or sit across the room and just be. Sometimes Armie runs his hands up and down his calves, squeezing a little, his eyes locked on turned-off tv. On others Timmy atop of him playing with his chest hair, twirling them between his fingers, making tiny curls that lasts for seconds. They could not even be looking at each other, both of them deep in thoughts. It felt natural. Like stepping into the lukewarm ocean after being all day in the burning sun, the blessing feeling of purity running down your body. 

And now ...now he can’t stand silence. He must put some noise to distract himself, not prepared to let thoughts flood his mind. It was theirs and now it’s not even a shared memory. It breaks him. Once he had at least that. Not only comfortable silence but that particular time that was all his. Now the silence is a painful reminder of what he once had and is now lost. He kills it with everything he can think of. 

In this precise moment, when he just sits on their couch after that blow-minding kiss, he knows he must learn to live in silence again. Because no other noise will stop hurtful thoughts, none would replace painful memories from coming back again and again and again. No music, no chattering, no laughter or just a sound of turned on tv will stop that consistent noise in his head. So he sits there, leaning gently over the back of the couch, allowing the noise to get louder and louder, letting him fill every damn cell, every damn fiber of his body, waiting. Waiting until it all fades away until there will be nothing more than him. Hoping that silence will fill the hollow in his heart and that maybe, just maybe, it will give him the answers he needs.

 

* * *

 

He ate the crackers. The first thing he put in his mouth after almost 2 days without any food in his stomach. This feeling is quite familiar that salty taste of crackers. You know how they taste, their texture on your tongue, how they crack between your teeth. Yet now they seem harder, perhaps because your tongue is too dry or your jaw hasn’t worked like this for a while now. But it’s different and familiar at the same time. He almost feels the saltiness of those eaten crackers now. He sits and he waits and anticipation builds in him slowly. The hope somewhere there, slightly glowing, small but he can feel the flame burning.

The coffee shop is surprisingly deserted, perhaps the rush hours are over. It’s more quiet, cozier and he likes it. He feels relieved. He sips his coffee, hot, brown liquid burning the tip of his tongue. He clutches the cup in his hands, the warmness spreading from his fingertips. Talk is a necessity at this point, prolonging it further might only complicate an already complicated situation. It’s all extremely confusing and perhaps they should’ve been open about their feelings from the beginning. But it was hard, it still really is. As much as he wants to hear it from Armie, he also knows that it will change everything. You can’t erase what was said, you can’t pretend it didn’t happen, you can’t feign or hide your own emotions. 

“Hey” softly said above him, dragging him back from his own thoughts. He looks at Armie, his lips curving in a pleased smile on their own accord. He missed him. Missed his face, his eyes. Missed looking at him. 

“Hi” Timmy says, when Armie sits opposite him, spreading his long legs, kicking the table with his knees. 

An awkward silence fell between them, Timmy swallows hard, feeling his mouth going dry. He hems, stealing few more seconds.

“So … I think we need to talk” he looks down, staring at his hands, fingers around the mug, coffee stains on the table. It’s harder than he anticipated and it’s just a beginning. 

“Can I … can I start?” Armie speaks, his voice soft, velvety.  _ ‘You’re beautiful’ _ he wants to say badly because he really is. His hair now longer, so he can run fingers through them, blond threads flipping to the side. 

“Of course” he manages, clutching tightly the mug in his hands, feeling the heat that keeps him grounded

“I’m sorry” Armie says softly, his eyes focused on a flat surface of the table, twisting his fingers, discomfort pouring from him “I guess I lost control in your presence and I couldn’t stop myself”

“What?!” Timmy stutters, because that’s the last thing he expected to hear. He thought that Armie would apologize for the kiss, add that this can’t happen again and that they need to solve this as soon as possible because they both might go crazy. This is not what he expected. He isn’t prepared “You need to be more clear with me in this”

“It’s just … it’s really hard because even I don’t understand it. At least not completely. Look … it’s just … I woke up in a fucking new world when almost everything was turned upside down from what I remembered. Not only I’ve lost my memory, but suddenly I had a husband, the face unrecognizable for me. It wasn’t even about the fact that my whole life, the part that I remember, I was attracted to women, that I can still tell you the names of my girlfriends, the important ones, the ones that changed my life. It was about the fact that I didn’t remember  _ you.  _ You in particular. That the most important person in my entire life was erased from my memory, leaving the blank space that I didn’t know how to fill. So I did the only thing I’m good at, I was an asshole. I felt attraction to you and wanted to deny it with my whole being, rubbing in your face that I didn’t want you, just because … it was you. All my life I thought I don’t deserve any good to happen to me, I’m sure you know that. Every time you looked at me I could see affection mixed with hurt, love that boil inside you. So I hated this because I couldn’t remember and how could I not remember someone like you”.

 

* * *

 

Timmy isn’t sure when things changed. He remembers vividly the awkwardness and uncertainty after their first kiss. When they avoided each other for more than a week when he couldn’t look Armie in the eyes. They hadn’t talked about it. Perhaps they didn’t know how. The run into each other in the coffee shop, the hot coffee spilled on his shirt, he yelped in a high-pitched voice. They ended up in the kitchen, Timmy on the counter, his legs on Armie’s waist, pulling him closer, kissing senselessly. Coffee stained shirt forgotten on the floor. Only later he was presented with Armie’s demons. Consuming him from the inside, invading his life and most of his thoughts, in a way that he looked happy, pleased with the life he was living, while he was dying slowly, as minutes passed and no one paid enough attention. Not even his friends. Only then Timmy realized how good at faking he was, that he mastered the art of pretending. He can see the same demons consuming him now. Realizing now, better late than never, that the man in front of him still haven’t fought them. That this Armie still had to overpower them and make peace with himself. He laces their fingers together, gripping tightly, trying to say a million words without uttering a single one.

 

He was focused on work, mostly how people could easily piss him off and he couldn’t even tell them kindly to fuck off, so he didn’t really note that someone was in an apartment. Pleasant smell invaded his nostril when he came inside, door closed but someone presence undoubtedly taking over the kitchen. He smiled to himself, that stupid grin eating his face, the teeth presenting themselves fully when he entered the kitchen and found Armie. Armie in his kitchen. Cooking. 

“Hey” he said not wanting to scare him

“Hi” soft and sweet and Timmy’s knees felt weak in an instant “Sorry I didn’t say anything, I just … didn’t want to interrupt you with your work” he said somehow sheepishly, a blush covering his cheeks and all Timmy’s insides are melting at the sight. 

“Don’t be. We both decided we should try living again, right? I’m glad you’re here. And you never interrupt”

The smile that Armie gives him in return is small and shy, just slightly curving his lips. Timmy loves that smile. Because it’s all for him. 

He knows that feeling, clutching at his heart, making his chest tighten. It feels like coming home. 


	5. The muscle memory and shared feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see I guess and I'm terribly sorry for that. This chapter is huge for me, so I just hope in some way it will reward your waiting.   
> As always I'm in awe of how many people like this story and comment under every chapter, that fills my smol heart with warmth and happiness. I adore! This is the first fic that I wrote and reached more than 100 kudos so I'm bowing to every and each of you that left kudos and comment or anything!   
> We are almost at the end - the next chapter is the last one and I feel weird about it truly. I don't know when it will be up, but I hope for the best. Love you all and kudos for your support.

 

He missed Armie’s body pressed tightly to his, his heavy arms across his ribcage and stomach, their legs entwined. He missed the heat radiating from him, warming his skin just by being close. He missed puffs of air exhaled onto his neck, slightly dumping the endings of his curls there. He missed the strong and steady rhythm of Armie’s heartbeat in his ears like quiet music in the night lulling him to sleep. He missed waking up sprawled in bed almost like a starfish atop of him, his long limbs all around his body like an octopus, his blue eyes looking sleepy, softly at him, his lips curved in a small smile, his hair disheveled. 

How exactly is he feeling now it’s hard to put in shape. He loves being close to Armie, but he can’t help himself craving for more. He’s lying in bed, around the darkness that for once seems to be his enemy, his mind on the constant loop of over-analysis, his eyes cautiously closed, his breath even. He feels Armie, the warmness of his body, the deliciousness of his scent, the ridiculously adorable snorts that escape his mouth once in a while. He is happy, glad even because it’s more than he anticipated. But he can’t stop his heart from wanting more. Not only his body, but his whole-self craves for even the smallest touch, to feel his chapped lips against his, to run his fingers over his arms, his chest. 

Something loosened in his chest when he saw him there, in their kitchen, cooking for both of them. Something he wasn’t aware of before. Something that was holding him in a vice grip, that was tighter and harsher with every day that passed. When Armie looked at him, so open and vulnerable, his blue eyes seeking something to hold onto, Timmy finally understood the realness of losing Armie forever. He understood that the grip clenching around his heart tighter with every passing minute was fear. Not for being alone, but fear of being left without him. He understood it all crystal clear when Armie’s eyes fell down for a second, sheepishly, a faint blush covering his cheeks, he looked up again almost instantly, a delicate smile playing on his lips with a small tint of relief. He knew all of this, still, he couldn’t stop his heart from wanting more. And much much more he’s craving.

He opens his eyes, staring at a wall, adjusting to the darkness surrounding him. Longing for the easiness and intimacy they once had, cursing himself for wanting more than he is given. He is greedy, he knows as much and they’re lying so close to each other. It could be so easy to just reach out and touch, to feel Armie’s steady heartbeat under his fingertips, to feel underneath the palm of his hand how his chest rises and falls, to slowly run his cheek alongside Armie’s relishing in the feeling of his stubble scraping the smooth expanse of his skin. He sighs frustrated, mostly with himself. He closes his eyes, focusing on Armie’s steady breathing next to him, waiting for sleep to come, to put at least a pause to overflood of his feelings.

 

* * *

 

He yawns softly, opening his eyes slowly because it’s always hard in the morning. All his senses languidly coming to life. For the first time in weeks, he is in peace, as if everything finally is in the right place, that every piece fits another like they all are puzzles, that his fingers incorrectly matched, but found their own mistake later. He breathes quietly, his cheeks pressed to Armie’s chest, his fingers scratching lightly at the tanned skin, toying with the hair. Armie pets his curls, swirling his fingers occasionally around them. It’s nice, he thinks, how he makes his way through them, how he pulls them, just enough for Timmy to feel it, but not to cause pain. It’s bad he will soon have to get up and go to work, leave this precious space made of just the two of them, secluded from outside, isolated from the world. He would spend his whole day lying here, atop of Armie, twirling his chest hair around his fingers, planting small kisses everywhere his lips could reach. And he would be happy. He would be the happiest man alive. Just then his brain reboots, the realization of previous weeks and what is he doing now coming to him like a punch in guts, twisting his insides, making his blood froze. He stills his hand, breath caught in his throat.

“Sorry” he mumbles, almost inaudibly, feeling his heart rabbiting in his chest

“What for?” Armie asks gently, his fingers never stopping and Timmy strangely finds it soothing.

“For going all over you in my sleep” he responds, uncertain with the given answer. Perhaps he should say more, perhaps he should bare his feelings right now and just by doing so it will lift some weight from his shoulders. But he doesn’t. He knows it doesn’t work like this

“First of all” Armie continues calmly “You can’t control yourself in sleep. And second of all, I’m not complaining. I’m right here Timmy, enjoying it”

For the second time in the last 24 hours, Timmy feels that everything will be alright.

 

* * *

 

“Can I propose something?” Timmy stills his hand, the mournful of porridge on the spoon halfway from his face, he nods, swallowing the food down his clenched throat “ Can we like do … something that we used to? I mean .. you and me … umm, I thought that it might help” he shrugs then, his words echoing between walls “You don’t think it’s a good idea?”

“No... it’s just. Ok, it will sound dumb and … the thing is we don’t have our thing you know? It sounds super cliche and all couples do that, but we just did what we wanted. See a movie, eat in fancy restaurant, go on a bike trip that literally killed me or have a fight about remote control .. umm ok I’m not sure if most couples do that last one, but we do .. quite frequently actually, but what I’m trying to say and you can see that I’m not great in transferring what I have in mind to general audience that is you right at this moment, but it’s that we don’t have  _ the thing  _ that makes us …  _ us _ I guess”

Armie bites his lip and nods, like he understands, while Timmy thinks he doesn’t understand himself at all

“But we can do something together right?”

“Yeah. Together. But I have to go to work first. I’ll be back as soon as I can and you can think what would you like to do”

“Can I walk you over there?” 

“Yeah” he responds a little bit breathlessly, but who on Earth could judge him for that “I would like that very much” he adds because he might not liked what Nick said to him, but it was true nonetheless and he thinks it’s time, to be honest.

 

* * *

  
  


He opens the front door and his nostrils are invaded by the most delicious smell the Earth could ever carry. His backpack falls to the floor with a soft thud and he shrugs the jacket immediately, his boots following suit and everything just comes off of him, he isn’t particularly interested where it all lands. He takes a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest, pumping the blood, making his cheeks flushed (he can blame the weather, he will definitely blame the weather). He runs his head over his hair, shaking his curls a little, so they won’t look all flattened and scraggly. He bites his lower lip a few times, checking himself in the mirror, his curls bouncing around his neck, his cheeks tainted in pink. ‘ _ This is not your first date you dumbass. Just go there’  _

“Hi” he finally chokes, the corners of his mouth lifting up in a tender smile. His knees go all weak, his legs like a jello when his mind catches the actual sight in front of him. Armie wearing soft, big sweater (that beige one, Timmy’s favorite, the one that he kept sleeping in, almost every night until the scent faded away), his jeans fitting like a second skin, hugging nicely the perfect swell of his ass. And if that isn’t enough, like Timmy could live normally after seeing this (he might try, but he won’t succeed), Armie is wearing an apron. A fucking apron and Timmy stumbles over his own feet. It’s ridiculous he knows it. Above all the ridiculousness there’s no cure for Armand in an apron.

“Hey” Armie answers, coming closer and planting a chaste kiss on his lips. It’s over too soon for Timmy’s likeness, but he can’t argue or even ask for more. He is willing to get whatever Armie chooses to give him right at this moment. 

“So … you said we don’t have our thing. That we see a movie, eat in a fancy restaurant and fight for remote control. So here’s dinner, we will see a movie shortly and I might even let you win the fight over remote control” he winks at the end. All Timmy can do is looking at him in awe, wondering how it’s even possible that he is even more in love.

“Well … considering that I might even compliment you about the food”

“You fucking know the food is amazing. As always when I cook”

Timmy chuckles, the grip around his heart loosening more, the reminiscent feeling of something being there, the memory of muscles pulled together tightly but freed after some time. White strips still left, still present on his skin as a reminder.

 

* * *

 

Timmy loves Sunday’s. He loved them as a kid because he didn’t have to do much and could kill the hours doing whatever (sometimes he played games when he supposed to learn), the dinner was always amazing and the amount of dessert he could eat after surprised everyone including him. Now it’s because Sundays are lazy. Hours passing slowly, rolling off of them languidly, leisurely, almost like honey. Sunday means cuddling in bed for hours, it means sloppy kisses with morning breaths, it means lazy fucking as long as they both can keep. For all those reasons and for hundreds more Timmy loves Sundays. 

„What do you want to do today?” he asks, his voice still sleepy, his eyes closed.

That’s what they were doing recently. Just being together, in the same space. Just trying to remind themselves how they ended up here. Married. Together. Sharing apartment. Sharing ups and downs, sharing tears and screams, laughs and smiles, moans and whimpers. He is happy because it means they’re trying, even though they are not in the same place like before. The thought that Armie might never remember is buried deep down in his mind, hide upon layers and layers of positivity that he will. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t lay some nights in bed, eyes wide open, grounded by Armie’s strong hands, wondering about the possibilities of possibilities. Allowing the dark thoughts invade him, make their own space in his mind, create the paths, the even darker tunnels of routes. What if he will never remember? What if he will never know the first touch of his lips against Timmy’s? What if he will never remember the way he used to press his hips against Timmy’s? What if his mind won’t ever know the look on Timmy’s face when they stood in front of the judge, just before he leaned down and signed the paper, the soft smile that appeared just after Armie did the same. When he lies like this, tears silently rolling down his cheeks, throat dry and tight, he can’t stop himself from wanting it all back. Just the way it used to be. Sometimes he catches Armie staring at him, knowingly, aware of Timmy’s wishes. Timmy hates himself a little bit every time that happens. But they’re trying. Every damn minute, it’s a challenge they both took almost willingly. This past week feels almost like a test, pulling strings and fibers, trying them out, their strengths, how they both fit in it now. So they’re doing things. Simple ones. Dumb ones. Easy ones. The things that they don’t consider of doing until the last moment. Yesterday it was just a walk in the park, Timmy grumbled a little because Armie with his long legs set pretty fast pace, but he slowed down as soon as Timmy said something about killing someone because of walking and he couldn’t help himself with saying “best husband ever” which led to both of them blushing furiously. The other night Timmy came back from work and found Armie spread on the couch, his head on arm-rest, his legs bent over the other end, his feet hanging. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, a little bit afraid that maybe Armie remembered something or even worse he injured himself

“Trying to fit in” said simply, nonchalantly

“Your feet are hanging”

“Yeah I know. Still working on it” Timmy furrowed his brows, cocked his head to the left, looking at Armie weirdly

“You want to build a fort?” Timmy shrugged and nodded, because why not.

 

“What we were doing on Sundays?” Armie asks, his voice muffled by Timmy’s hair, his lips barely touching dark curls, he plants a small kiss against them, pulling Timmy closer to his chest. Timmy hides, a little bit embarrassed. Because even though their life is coming back to normalcy, there still are moments of hesitations, moments when Timmy stops himself, not wanting to destroy that fragile accordance, that little air bubble that surrounds them, sheltering them from the outside world. This is one of those moments when Timmy wants to be honest, straightforward, but he doesn’t want to push too much. He doesn’t want to put pressure on Armie. He blushes, feeling his cheeks coloring in rose-pink, when he hides his face in the crook of Armie’s neck, breathing him in.

“You could guess easily” he mumbles, making Armie chuckle in delight, the sound reverberating between their bodies

“So you can’t even say that we usually had sex all Sunday, but you call yourself mature”

“It wasn’t me who debated all previous evening about the taste of dog cookies and if they’re in fact good. And for the record, I didn’t want to pressure you”

“You don’t” he says, messing Timmy’s curls, making him pull away and look at him “And for the record, I really wanted to know if they taste good. I always wanted to have a dog”

“I know” Timmy whispers, in the average of inaudibility, their eyes locked. Timmy licks his lips unconsciously, only then aware of Armie’s eyes tracking the movement, hungrily.  

He isn’t quite sure who leans first, maybe it’s him, maybe it’s Armie or maybe they meet halfway, Armie’s lips are on his and it’s all that matters. He presses himself forward, opening slightly his mouth for intrusion that comes second after. Savoring Armie’s wet and insistent tongue in his mouth. He sucks slightly, swallowing Armie’s moan. He cups Armie’s cheeks, swiping his thumb over Armie’s jawline, scraping his teeth over lower lip. He lifts himself up, straddling Armie’s waist, leaning above him, still kissing him senselessly. His hips move on their own accord, sinfully undulating, his semi-hard cock brushing against Armie’s, making them both moan in pleasure. He does it again, intentionally, seeking blissful friction, that marvelous slide back and forth of their bodies. The heat is pooling in his belly, his muscles constricting in anticipation. He’s lost in the moment, because next thing he registers is Armie’s callused fingers encircling his cock around the base, giving a hesitant stroke.

“Armie” he keens, placing his head on Armie’s shoulder, just resting there “We should slow down … I don’t want …  _ oh god fuuck”  _ there’s Armie’s cock, sliding against his, the movement eased with precome from their both hard-ons, the tight grip of Armie’s fingers around them both making him whine “Pressure you” he adds, biting his shoulder because it’s too much

“You don’t” Armie’s voice low and rough, coming straight to Timmy’s ear, he bites his earlobe to emphasize his words “I wanna make you come. I wanna see you come” 

Timmy loses it, loses himself in what he wants and needs. Armie’s pace hastens, his thumb moving over the head, to go up and down again with an abandon, searching for climax that comes minutes after, Timmy’s muscles flex and he cums in white strips over their dicks, biting the jugular between Armie’s neck and shoulder. He sags, satiated and boneless, feeling as Armie’s hand still moves, fast and hard, up and down, again and again, Timmy’s come now easing the way.

“Come for me” he whispers in some post-coital bliss, all precautions be damned and Armie does with two strokes more, coming between their bodies, covering their stomachs and softening cocks in white, sticky strips. 

Another reason to love Sundays.

 

* * *

 

He smiles, hugging her tightly, kisses her cheek for a good measure, before they both sit across one another. 

“Spill the beans Timmy” he chuckles, losing himself in her light tone, in the easy way she throws her head back in a similar laugh

“Sometimes better, sometimes worse”

“Oh don’t pretend all those sleepovers with my friends in high-school didn’t teach you anything. Details Timmy. We all need details”

“It’s more than I could ask for Pauline. We spend every free second together. He cooked me dinner and it all was like nothing has changed. But at the same time, it’s different, a good kind of different. He talks to me, he wants to know. We got pretty close, it’s all amazingly … good” he finishes with tight voice, sounding smaller than he should

“What’s wrong then Timmy?” he shrugs, in vain because he knows her, she won’t just let it go “Come on Timmy, use your words with me”

“What if one day he will wake up still not remembering, saying he can’t do this anymore. That he tried, but he can’t” he tries to steady his voice, almost succeeding, but breaking at the end. He swallows, trying to unknot his throat. Pauline looks at him, her gaze hard and focus, like always when she gathers her words, so that could all have a meaning.

“Ok, that might sound harsh, what I will say, but Timmy you do know that life is unpredictable. I won’t tell you that he won’t do that, he doesn’t know that. But we both know that even if he didn’t lose his memory if he didn’t have that accident, there’s no certainty that you two would be together till you die. People change, sometimes they grow apart, but sometimes the changes allow them to be together, to be the same as ever”

“I know … but it’s just ..”

“Hard. And of course, it’s hard. One day everything's amazing and the next the world is upside down. Sure you can overanalyze his every word and action, you can stick with the idea that he will leave you sooner or later, not because he doesn’t remember, but he suddenly knows he prefers women than you, we both know Timmy that you still struggle with that. So you can do all of that, sure you can, but where it will lead you?!”

“It’s not that simple”

“Of course it isn’t” she interjects fiercely “I already said it’s hard. But you can decide if you make it harder. So tell me baby bro, what is making you frantic? Oh my god, you’re blushing! Do fucking tell or I will make it do it. Or Jesus you don’t even have to. I know that smug smile and that rose blush on your cheeks. Shared orgasms are good for your soul and body Timmo, I’ve said that much a few times before”

“But what if he just … tries to like it, that he is just curious because he doesn’t know how it works” Timmy curses Pauline’s noisiness a lot because it can get embarrassing and annoying, some things he just wants to keep to himself or even more not to share them with his sister. But most of the times he’s grateful for that, he would keep everything inside him, every fear, every hope, but she’s always there, pushing him to reach further, to ask for more, even though that might be selfish. 

“Of course he is curious. Timmy, he has a nice ass like yours in front of him every fucking day, of-fucking-course he wants to snap some piece for himself” she says exaggeratingly, showing him her cheeky smile”

“Pauline”

“Ok, ok” she rolls her eyes a little bit, for a good measure “Look, we are all humans, of course, we get curious and want to know more. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t serious or wants only good sex and nothing else. Timmy we both know if he would want that, that would happen a long time ago” he opens his mouth to protest, but Pauline just raises her eyebrows and he just shuts without a protest “You’re my baby bro and I’ll always look after you, always taking your side, but I think in some way I can understand his position. It’s not easy for him either, he is as scared as you are, but we both know that Armie can hide his real feelings, that he mastered the ability of fake smiles and half-truths. I’m not taking his side here, if he would ever hurt you, I would cut his balls off, you have my word for that, but I know and you know as well, that he isn’t so transparent as you, that he had problems with talking about what he feels, what he wants. Talk to him Timmy or you will stick with too many ideas in your own head. Maybe you both need some time alone”

“What do you mean alone, we are leaving together and no one else”

“Well shit sherlock I know that. I meant you could go somewhere, just the two of you, no work, no friends”

“Like where?”

“Oh for fuck sakes Timmy! What am I? You want me to write you entire book of ‘How to get my man and husband back’. Think of something. You know him better than anyone” he shows her his tongue because he can’t help it and she just raises her eyebrows at him “Talk to him” 

He often hates her because of that. Because she’s mostly always right. Or just always if you think about it.

 

* * *

 

“Or they gonna kill me or I’m gonna kill someone” he says, just throwing himself at the couch, exhausted and tired, Armie chuckles at his position, starfished across not so large sofa, Timmy’s feet (with boots still on them) hanging in the air

“What happened?” he then asks softly and Timmy opens his eyes just a little to look at him

“Few people and too many problems” he mumbles, breathing into the pillow, his eyes shut down once again, a soft sigh escaping his mouth “Oooh I dreamed all day about it”

“About our couch, really?!” Armie smirks, but Timmy doesn’t give a fuck about it, Armie just said the couch is theirs. He smiles to himself because that means he sees this apartment as something that belongs to them and not some space he currently occupies. 

“Yeah this exact couch. It’s plushy, super comfortable when you are exasperated enough and if you’re creative enough you can fit in”

“That bad?” Armie asks tenderly after some time and it comes clearer to Timmy’s ear, so he opens his eyes just to find Armie kneeled in front of him, his blue eyes softly looking at him, Timmy just nods and swallows hard, when his husband big hand strokes his cheek oh-so so gently “I think I know what might help you” he adds. Timmy tenses in anticipation, waiting for a kiss to come, but Armie stands up and heads out of the room, leaving him alone, sleepy on the couch. He sighs, disappointed and frustrated, shutting his eyes, drifting into sleep.

 

“Timmy” there it is again, calloused but gentle thumb stroking his cheek and jawline, the voice soft in his ears, making him lean to the touch even more “Hey, baby, wake up” he lifts his eyelids with effort, because sleeping is good, very very good, sleeping is everything at this moment and nothing can compete with sleeping right now. But as he opens his eyes and finds himself looking at Armie, blue eyes tender, open and vulnerable, there’s nothing in the world he prefers to do than this. “Can you walk or it’s better if I do that part?” Timmy closes his mouth hearing the question, realizing just a little too late that he was drooling on the pillow and that wasn’t a good view at all. 

“You” he mumbles, his voice still sleepy, his shoulders aching, his muscles stiff from the position he fell asleep. He can always blame his current state. 

Armie smiles at him, without saying a word pulls him to sitting position, putting Timmy’s arms over his shoulders and around his neck, standing up and making Timmy wrap his legs around his waist. He sighs content, hiding his face between Armie’s neck and shoulder

“Are we going to bed?”

“Not yet”

 

He pushes him down on a cold toilet and Timmy looks at him confused, brows furrowing.

“I thought that hot bath will make you feel better” Armie shrugs, scratching his neck, his cheeks colored in the most beautiful shade of pink. That might be hot steam coming from the bathtub, but Timmy can’t quite believe that’s the cause.

“I think you’ll have to undress me before going in that hot water” maybe he is pushing his luck, maybe he is just tired and wants Armie next to him, wants him whole just for him, just for few more minutes. To just let himself be, taking as much as he craves without second-guessing, without overthinking and overanalyzing every single word. Armie comes closer, pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it down on the floor, looking at Timmy with those blue eyes, seeking for something, for an answer that they both are unable to give with words. Timmy isn’t quite sure what he finds there, but it’s enough for him to kneel between Timmy’s legs. He unlaces his boots, pushing them aside, removes his socks and pops open the button of his jeans, sliding them down to his ankles with Timmy’s small help. The shiver runs down his spine, goosebumps taking over his skin when Armie’s gaze rakes over him. He puts his thumbs on the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down slowly, throwing on the pile of clothes gathered next to them. Armie gets up, drawing forth his hand to help Timmy stand on his feet.

“Won’t you join me?” he whispers, biting his lower lip, anticipation bubbling in his veins, dreading that Armie will say no, that he will walk out of the bathroom. He waits for his answer, but that never comes. At least not in words, because Armie - as a man of action he is - just strips off his clothes. The sweater comes off first, followed by shirt, giving Timmy plenty of time to admire his sculpted chest. His throat goes dry, his heart clenching when in one swift motion Armie discards his sweatpants and boxers all the way down and stands unabashedly in front of him. He swallows hard, his Adam apple bobbing, when he tries to remain calm and collected, any thought of sleep already gone. His eyes move on their own accord over his body, from the head to toes, admiring tanned chest, slightly pointed abdomen muscles, the thickness of Armie’s cock, half hard now, all of the meat of his thighs. 

Armie grabs his hand, unabashed as always with his nakedness, sits firmly in the bathtub and pulls him in, close to his chest, caging him with his body, bracketing his legs with his own. Timmy slides down, floating in the water, Armie’s hands moving up and down his sides, rubbing onto his skin, his muscles relaxing, becoming pliant in the hot water and under Armie’s mistrations. He shuts his eyes, feeling the exhaustion and tiredness seeping out of him, taken away with the steam.

The sudden boldness surprises him, but there’s this uncertainty in him, that urge to be positive that this isn’t just a stupid game for Armie. He turns around, facing him and in one swift, languid motion moving up and down, rubbing their cocks. The sweet friction curses through him and he does it again, and then again to hear soft moan escaping Armie’s lips. 

“I’ve told you this million times before, but you .. you really are beautiful” the tenderness ooze from his voice, when he leans closer and kisses him on the lips, invading the wet heat with his tongue, leisurely exploring the naked body surrounding him with his hands. But it’s not enough. It’s never enough and soon his puffy lips and eager tongue join the journey of exploring, retracing the body so well known, but novel and different somehow. He traces his tongue over the perfect line of Armie’s throat, going down to the hollow and further down, savoring the nipples between his teeth, twitching them and giving them a small squeeze with his fingers, looking wickedly at Armie’s mouth open in disbelievement. He wants to worship this body, trace his fingertips over the strong muscles, dip his fingers in the soft flesh of his belly, spread his hands on his lower back and move them up, featherlightely scrape his neck, drag his fingernails over the jugular, swipe his tongue over collarbone and then down, down down down to his navel. To sink his blunt fingernails in his hips, held him down. Take him whole in his mouth, feel the cockhead hitting his throat. But he is past the thinking that sex is good no matter the place and he just prefers to choke on something else that water going down his throat and nostrils. He leaves his mouth on Armie’s collarbone, sucking a hickey there, while his hand goes down, taking Armie’s cock and stroking him to full hardness. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, worried despite the position they’re currently in

“Yeah” Armie breaths straight to his mouth and then kisses him fiercely, shoving his tongue down Tim's mouth.

He encircles both their cocks, moving up and down, creating the friction, making the water splash to the floor. They both don’t care. Not really. Leisurely and languidly chasing their own release,  taking their time to feel. They come, one after another, when the tightness is unbearable, their muscles constricting one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is even more with a non-linear narrative. This all passes in about two weeks, so have that in mind.


	6. The shattered hopes and broken love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah really long time no see right?! I have only myself to blame, I should've known better that posting this before having all chapter would be hard, so yeah I'm terribly sorry about this fact. I hope some of you are still here. I was literally stuck, couldn't write, couldn't think. Maybe this chapter shouldn't look like this, maybe it could be written better. But I'm proud I finished it and I'm proud of how it looks, how it's written. 
> 
> I want to say thank you to all of you that kept on cheering on me, even when I lost faith in my own abilities. All the love to you.
> 
> Please read end notes for reasons

He blinks a couple of times, his eyelids heavy as if all the blood was replaced by lead. He yawns, scratching his jawline wondering how he made it to the bed. He shifts slightly to take a peek on the clock and there it is, that sweet, dead weight across his waist.

For the first time in months, there’s no questions flooding his mind, no thoughts, no worries. There’s silence buzzing in his ears, occasionally interrupted by soft snorts from Armie, that lies beside him peacefully. It’s surprising. The lack of doubts, uncertainties invading his mind, his every thought. It feels settled, the truth that lies deep down in his soul, stripped and bared. Is he going to wake up tomorrow without any questions?! Of course not. Is he going to stop wondering about everything? Also not. But he feels it now. Deep in his bones, as if some magical element was injected to his blood system and filled the blank spaces, the hollows inside him. 

He breaths and with every inhale and exhale, he lifts the weight on his waist. He relishes in that little exercise at 2 am in the morning. Because he craved this body, he craved the intimacy and closeness. The desire that was burning his insides, the desire that was consuming him, because he could look into Armie’s eyes, get lost in the oceanic blue that always captured his attention, just to find them empty. But it’s not true. Not entirely at least. Yes, he was looking, but he didn’t really see what was in front of his eyes. He was searching for something else, for something that he saw there in all those years. He missed everything else that was in there. And he can only blame himself for that. 

Armie shifts, scooting closer and nuzzling Timmy’s neck, breathing him in and sighing with relief. All this time he was looking for love and he missed that Armie was simply falling in love with him.

 

* * *

  
  


The room is dark, only a small lamp enlightening it with an orange glimpse. He stops himself, leaning over the door frame and just watching. Armie is sitting on the sofa, in his weird yet comfortable position, a book in his hands, glasses on his nose. It feels like the time has stopped and that nothing had happened, nothing had changed. He doesn’t want to indulge himself in living in the past anymore, he doesn’t want to picture his previous perfect life with his perfect husband, just then to be destroyed with reality, most importantly because Armie doesn’t deserve it. 

“Hey” Armie lifts his eyes and a soft smile spreads over his face when he sees him standing in the door frame, he is even more beautiful like this, his lips curved, his teeth showed, small dimples on his cheeks. 

“You’re pretty late today” Armie says and Timmy sighs, leaving his jacket on the couch

“Another tough day” 

Armie makes him room on the couch, but that’s not what he has in mind, he thinks for just a second, but he has enough of it, of this overthinking everything, every word, every step. 

He straddles Armie’s thighs, getting a  _ yip _ of surprise from Armie, he snickers delighted but doesn’t stop. He puts his hands under the hem of Armie’s jumper, lifts it just to expose tanned skin and muscled abdomen, he bends, pushes his head past the fabric, his nose bumps Armie’s chest when he hoists his head up until he is eye to eye with Armie, the loop of the jumper stretched around both of their necks. 

“Hi” Timmy says, licking his lips before going for a kiss. 

“You comfortable?” Armie’s voice bubbles with happiness when they just look at each other, hands wrapped around each other's waists.

“Yep” he plants his head on Armie’s shoulder, nuzzling the others man neck, moving his nose up and down naked skin “I have an idea” he says after awhile, his voice muffled

“Yeah” he lifts his head, looking Armie in the eyes, his fingers ghosting over Armie’s lower back, needing to touch him

“I thought … that maybe we could go on a trip. Just us. We could go somewhere where we haven’t been to before. Somewhere where it’s warm and sunny” he waits with heart-pounding strong in his chest. 

“We better pack some good sunscreens so your skin won’t turn all red after few hours on the sun”

Timmy doesn’t even have time to grin, because Armie just stands and he clings to him, wrapping his legs around his husband waist, letting him manhandle him.

 

* * *

 

It’s hot, rays of sunshine downpouring, heating everything on the way. He disregards his jacket, already starting to sweat and turns his head towards Armie, losing himself in the sight. Just for a bit. He is standing there, two carry-ons at his feet, checking directions on his phone, looking completely out of place. He is not even aware of it, flipping longer threads of hair out of his eyes, wearing dark jeans, that are washed and ragged around his ankles, his white shirt nicely acknowledging the presence of his muscles and pecs. There’s this urge in him, that need deep down in his guts to just go and lace their fingers together, for everyone to know that this -  _ this man here _ \- is his. He knows Armie isn’t an object, isn’t a thing to be pushed around for his own satisfaction, that he is flesh and bones and feelings above all and he wants all of it. Perhaps this craving has never died inside him, perhaps he just pushed it down, because Armie was always there, always on his side, always there to protect him, to kiss his temples, to soothe his pain. Always there to say I love you or can you buy some milk on your way back. Maybe he just got used to this constant presence, maybe just because it was always there he forgot that in fact, it was there. Maybe that kept him whole, the knowledge that some part of Armie always loved him. 

He shakes his head, nudging the thoughts out of his mind. They didn’t come here to dig their nails in the past, to shove their hands deep down that hole, seeking answers for questions they had never asked. Perhaps questions they don’t even know. 

He comes over, taking Armie’s hand in his and lacing their fingers together, relishing in the sweet feeling of this closeness, of Armie’s big hand entwined with his, thumb drawing circles out of habit. Armie smiles at him, that little shy smile of his when he just doesn’t know what to say or how to react. 

“Come on you giant. Let’s find our hotel and spend the rest of the day on the beach” he tugs him forward, even though it’s hard to move all that muscles. Armie smirks but leaves Timmy to do with him what he wants. 

 

“The plans Armie, the plans” he shakes his head in disbelief, his hands tugging at his shirt “We need to have plans”

“You were the one saying we will lay all day on the beach. And know you what to make plans” 

“Just because we are on our well-deserved vacations that doesn’t mean we will do nothing for all 5 days Armie”

“I never said that” 

“So what do you want to do pumpkin?!” 

And yeah  _ that _ that gives him some attention, he grins and waits for Armie’s reaction that comes mere second after, a mischievous smile spread over his lips and his eyes start shining like they caught a wonderful idea. 

“I think I can … arrange some plans Sugar Plum” he says standing and Timmy is distracted with his naked chest sown with soft, blond chest hair and he really wants to grab them and feel how they tingle his skin. He’s halfway to his dreamland fantasy, when Armie comes in front of him, blocking his view and making him look up to meet his eyes, devilish sparkles hiding behind oceanic blue of his irises. Squeak escapes his mouth when Armie bends and picks him up, throwing him over his shoulder in Fireman’s carry.

“The fuck are you doing” he asks, trying to sound normal, he’s aware his voice is high-pitched, but the thing is he’s presented with his husband perfect ass, which he didn’t quite have time to appreciate those pasts days. Now his fingers tingle, wanting to touch and squeeze, to feel beneath his fingertips that flesh  “Armie put me down”

“No. You told me to arrange some plans”

“Can’t you tell me when I stand firmly on the ground?!”

“Not really. You didn’t say I have to reveal them to you” and with smirk goes to the bedroom, smaking playfully Timmy’s left buttcheek.

 

* * *

 

It is just burning hot pouring out of the sky. His skin screaming to find solace, to hide from the implacable sun. He feels dirty, sweat covering his body as an almost transparent sheath, his curls are damp at the end, clinging to the nape of his neck in an unpleasant way, the grains of sand under his fingernails, in his hair, between his toes. He loves the beach, but he fucking hates the sand, so that’s a little unfortunate combination. He squirms and sits on the beach towel, he cringes looking at his pale hands and torso that somehow ends up reflecting sunlight, making him shine almost like a Christmas tree. 

He gasps and squeaks, when Armie’s wet torso meets his overheated skin. 

“Jesus Armie”

“Come on babycakes, get all that sweetness in water. Let's swim a little, the temperature of water feels amazing after being all day under this heat. Then we will lie down and burn ourselves”

“Is that your plan really?”

“You wanted all day on the beach right?! So come on. Once we will back I’ll feed you some snacks” 

And Timmy … Timmy just can’t say no to that. Not really. He stands up, taking Armie’s hands in his, walking towards the water that is flickering with rays of sunshine. It is good. Very good. So why isn’t it perfect? Why isn’t he utterly happy and relieved?!

 

* * *

 

“I’m in pain” Timmy whines from the bed and he chuckles, because it isn’t that hard to figure out that after all day in the sun his skin would be irritated “Armieeeeeee” he pouts, whining loudly, it hurts and his skin is all red and unpleasant to look at

“You know wailing isn’t sexy right?”

“Well Sherlock I don’t feel sexy right now. My body aches and not in a fucking good way. You, come and help me. It’s your duty. It’s your fault. I wanted some sexy times to happen before we leave tomorrow and you let me burn my precious skin” 

Armie moves closer, sitting on the bed next to him, making mattress dip under his weight. He places soft kisses on Timmy’s heated back then asks

“What you want me to do?” he’s almost sure Timmy shivers hearing his words, so he stops and waits. 

“Kisses might help” mumbles, his voice muffled because of the pillow that he clutches tightly. 

“You said  _ ‘no’ _ to sexy times though” 

“I may be convinced otherwise” Armie snorts, stands up after placing one last kiss on Timmy’s lower back, making Timmy grunt in protest

“How about this? I’m going to try to ease your pain, make some dinner and then we will see how you feel about the rest?” 

Armie gets ‘best husband ever’ groaned in response, making him whole warm and fluffy. 

 

“Armie what the fuck is this?”

“Yogurt Timmy”

“Well … why then you place it on my back. I thought that you’d make dinner for us to eat and not for you to lick it from my back. I mean I’m all for some sexy times, but I’m a little bit hungry here” Armie rolls his eyes, spreading the white, liquidy substance all over his skin, while Timmy keeps bubbling

“Dinner will be ready soon. And yogurt will soothe your pain, it’s cold and prevents your skin from reddening more”

“But will you lick it when its work will be done?!”

“If you want to me to lick you, you only have to ask” he counters and for good measure slaps his asscheek. 

“Jesus, let's have this dinner over and move to sex” 

Armie snorts, moving down and nuzzling Timmy’s neck, dragging his lips over the jawline, placing a small kiss on the corner of his mouth

“Can’t wait for that” 

 

“How’s your back?”

“Better”

“Did you get yogurt all over the sheets?”

“No. But I could. And it would look like dried come”

“Eat your crackers Timmy”

“Oh god. You’re so bossy”

“I really thought your plane included more nakedness and some sexy asses and dicks”

“Well I was trying to be romantic here”

“Are you trying to woo me?”   
“I thought we are already married?”

“So are you saying just because we are legally together you won’t be nice to me”

“I was trying to be romantic, but you wanted to get into my pants”

“Well that’s because I know what a nice dick you hide there”

“Are you always this straightforward with me?”

“No. But you blush so sweetly, so I can’t deny myself that pleasure. This cotton pink spreads on your cheeks beautifully”

“But you still want to get in my pants”

“Well .. sometimes I can’t hold myself”

 

There were lying naked next to each other, limbs spread all over the sheets. Timmy on his stomach so Armie has a perfect view on his ass. No one could blame him that he just needed to touch it from time to time. Or slap. Or dig his fingers in that flesh. And if his finger grazes a little too long against his rim … well there’s no one else that should know about it. 

“Did I tell you I love your hands?” Timmy’s voice is slightly slurry, his cheeks tainted in pink and Armie can’t really tell if it’s because of alcohol, weed or sex “That was the messiest handjob I ever had” he chuckles, his hair tingling Armie’s skin, making him laugh on how ridiculous they both sound.  Timmy moves, draping himself on Armies body, their soft cocks touching, shivers going down their spines. 

“Wanted to ride you” Timmy mumbles, swirling between his fingers Armie’s hair, his lips red and swollen, his body limp and pliant “Ride your cock to the sunset”

Armie snorts. This is how sweet and ridiculous high-Timmy is. 

“Be my guest”

“Tired. Wanna sleep” 

“Well I promise my dick won’t go anywhere”

“S’alright. I won’t leave it from my sight” with that Timmy just melts into Armie more, nuzzling his neck, trailing wet kisses on his jawline, before just placing his hand on Armie’s chest and falling asleep. Armie joins him absently petting his hair before sleep overtakes his mind.

 

* * *

  
  


It’s stupid. Sad and pathetic. But he wished, he fucking hoped that this trip could change something. That  _ maybe  _ Armie will remember something. That after all this time he’d find recognition in his eyes, that knowing look, that stare of his. He feels shame burning his guts, because it’s not Armie’s fault, because he can’t just remember. Because it’s him who constantly puts pressure on him, without even realizing it. It stinks. He doesn't want to be that guy. The one that can let past and holds it with every fiber of his being, unable to move past it. But he was happy there. Now this happiness is turning into bitter dream, that he tries really hard to remember, but each time there’s less of it, it seems less sharp, less detailed, just the vague idea that swirls between his fingers, dissolving in the air like a smoke, first white and thick until it’s just a mere memory, that it once existed.

There’s no denying that he wished he could have it back. That it all would be that easy. Because he kept dismissing his own demons, not wanting to face them, gripping the hope that he wouldn't have to. That there’s no point in bringing this all up to later go with the life he had. He feels the tears under his eyelids and he wants to be tough and strong, he wants to tell Armie that’s ok, that they will work it out. But he can’t bring himself to do that. He feels miserable, he can’t look in his eyes anymore. There’s so much he needs and he knows if he will speak he will destroy everything they worked up to this point. But it’s burning him inside, clenching and scratching. Claiming his way to be left outside and he doesn’t have enough power to keep it inside. He doesn’t even do a good job at hiding it, catching Armie’s gaze, when he is looking at him when his focus is somewhere else. The car trip from the airport to their apartment is even more silent and uncomfortable than hours spent on the plane. And he can feel in his bones the thunder coming. That will shatter his whole being, crashing his world to the ground. Just because he couldn’t let go.

 

* * *

  
“What’s wrong?” the sound of their bags hitting the floor hasn’t yet faded away when he hears those words. Armie’s voice concerned, softly echoing in the space. He breathes deeply, once, twice, stealing seconds until the inevitableness. And it hurts, the ache spreading from his heart to his whole body and he wishes it will dissipate, he doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it “Timmy” Armie pleads, sounding so small, so heartbroken and it only makes him fall apart even more. Whose fault is that? Why it was perfect up until he thought it wasn’t. Just because he wanted to make some anecdote and caught himself in time realizing _ this _ Armie won’t understand it. Everything was perfect before he started to think about it, analyzing it. It was perfect before he fucked it up. 

“It’s … you’re just … different” he manages to let out, throat painfully tight, hands shaking, heart beating furiously fast, almost pounding against his ribs in uneven pace.    
“In what I’m so different?!” Armie breaths out and Timmy can’t look him in the eyes, he just can’t. But he hears it anyway, he hears Armie’s voice and knows that his eyes are filled with tears, he hears his jaw clenching, teeth clacking, there’s small tremble at the end of the question that breaks him a little bit more, that digs painful claws a little bit further in his heart, twisting his insides a little bit harder.

“I … you just are” it sounds pathetic and stupid, so fucking dumb that he cringes at his own words, staring at his feet, wishing for the world to swallow him, so he won’t hear the clatter of Armie’s heart. 

“No Timmy. You said once that you were tired of my moods, of the fact that I wasn't trying at all. And the truth is you didn’t try at all. You just wanted to be back at the place we left, because it was easy for you. Because you didn't have to speak about what eats you from the inside. You’re here saying with tears in your eyes that you can’t do this anymore and I’m asking myself why it’s so hard for you to love me. Why are you so deep in that memory lane that you can’t live in the present. Maybe I don’t have my memory, maybe there are things I should know, things I should be aware of, but I’m not stupid. I’m not going to force it on you, I’m not going to beg. It was your idea to try and you left me alone in this, waiting for  _ your Armie _ to come back like a hero in shining armor. But it’s me Timmy, this one here in front of you it’s Armie, _ your Armie _ . You stuck the idea that I was different from myself before the accident as if there was Armie-one and Armie-two just because it was convenient. I have enough” he adds at the end, his voice low, broken nonetheless, reverberating in the room, rebounding from the walls, surrounding him from every corner 

“Armie” he pleads, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Actions speak louder than any words and he can’t take it all back, he can’t turn back in time, he can’t move from his demons. He wishes he could. 

“No Timmy. I’m done with hurting myself for your own sake, I’m done with living the life I don’t remember just to see your smile, just to wait for your kiss. I’m done with wanting more than you’re willing to give me, some scraps of affection to keep your pretenses, while you wait for your Armie to return. I’m done with loving you” 

The sound of door shutting quietly echoes in his ears, when the silence fells in the place, interrupted only by his ragged breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. For doing this at the end. It's not the end though. I want to post one more chapter after this one, that in the begging I thought would be the epilogue. Don't give up yet.  
> Kisses and hugs


	7. The life, hopes and dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's DONE! I'm beyond happy that I've managed not only to start writing it but foremost that I've finished this. I think I've never before ended a multi-chapter fic.  
> Bow to all of you, that read, that comment, that was there, lurking in the shadows.  
> I'm not sure if there's anything left to say from me, other than THANK YOU and of course enjoy. Hoping that you did like this fic even a little bit.

Restless pounding echoes in the apartment, making his sleepy haze sip away. He doesn’t get up, keeps on lying spread on the bed, cheek pressed to the pillow, his mouth dry, his eyelids heavy and he just prays to whoever it is to _fuck off_ and leave him alone.

“Timothée Hal Chalamet you better open this door now” Pauline shouts, voice angry and irritated, in his mind, he can see her face twisted in fury and rage, jugular vein fiercely pulsing with blood. He sighs, just a little bit frustrated because he doesn’t have the strength to fight with her, he doesn’t have power in any of the cells of his body to face it. He mastered the ability to ignore problems until they go away.

“I can’t believe you” her voice is resigned and he doesn’t even look up, knowing perfectly she is inside his bedroom.

“You should be nice to me” he mumbles, clutching tightly the comforter “I’m hurt and you should cuddle me” her bitter laugh resonates between four walls, he bites his lip. It’s too much, too soon and he really needs someone supporting him, not throwing rocks at him. He can’t take much more.

“I’m not going to do that and you know why?! Because I think I was way too soft with you and you need to hear some things loud and clear. You need to stop putting yourself as the first and only victim in this situation. You need to finally open your fucking eyes. But I’m not going to do that when you lie in bed, being depressed and sad. This whole apartment stink with misery. Now, little brother, you get up and go shower, then I’m going to almost literally kick your ass for being a stupid dickhead. And when you finally realize what a dumbass you’re, we going to think about what you can do about it and if you behave by then, I can cuddle you. Get your pale and skinny ass to the shower before I lose the last ounce of my patience” with the need to always have the last word in an argument, she just storms out of the room before he can even open his mouth. But when he drags himself to the bathroom, he decides there’s nothing he could say to her.

 

* * *

 

He will never say that shower was a marvelous idea and that for the first time in three days (three heavy, hard days after Armie left him), he feels like human again and not only the corpse covered with flesh. He knows he can be pathetic, wallowing over everything, feeling sorry for himself, before someone goes and talks some wisdom into his thick head. But not everyday love of your life leaves you with ‘ _being done loving you’_. He has reasons. Or excuses if he wants to be clear. Because if lying to himself allows him to at least close his eyes and sleep for 4 hours through the night, he will do that.

“Here” she says, when he finally stumbles to the kitchen, placing a mug full of hot, black coffee. In any other circumstances, he would ask for sugar and some milk, but he won’t risk making her more furious than she is now. He will drink this awful black coffee and say thank you “Now my dearest brother. Speak”

“I’m your only brother” he mumbles, taking a big gulp of hot liquid, that burns his tongue immediately, making him curse loudly. She cocks her eyebrows looking unimpressed.

“Don’t play smartass with me. I think I should’ve really handle you the book ‘ _How to get my husband back and not screw things up’_ maybe you’d find some useful tips”

“Can you please not?” he asks, irritation coloring his voice, which only gains him another pointed look. Yes well, he is well-fucking aware how much he fucked up. No need to rub it into his face.

“Do not what?!”

“I know I fucked up”

“Here’s the thing. I don’t think you really understand. You keep telling yourself that you do, that you fucked up and you’re here depressing yourself. But before I’m going to jump on you, you have to tell me everything. Because my damn idea of you going to vacay with your hot husband on some hot beach was amazing. So explain yourself” there’s a tint of teasing in her voice, but it’s mostly hard and he doesn’t know if he’s happy with that.

“We were fine … or I guess we pretended we were fine” he begins, clutching the mug tightly, warmth seeping to his fingertips

“Timmy”

“Ok, I fucked up Pauline all right?! Happy now. It was good and I was happy, but I can’t live pretending I’m fine when I want my husband back” he can feel his eyes watering, tears prickling his now-closed eyelids. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain composure “Then we were back here and I knew he sensed what I was thinking. He just knew and said that he’s done loving me”

“Why he said it?”

“I don’t know why. Maybe because he has done loving me and he never did and this all was just façade, a fucking pretense until he got bored and tired with this”

“Sometimes you still surprise me. You’re gripping hardly your victim card”

“Victim card?!” he stands snapping at her, the sound of chair screeching the floor filling the space

“Sit down, there's no reason to be defensive. I know you expect me to pat you reassuringly on the shoulder and say how unfair and horrible this whole situation is for you. But let me tell you something - you’re so fucking lucky that he loves you. And don’t roll your eyes on me Timmy. I’m serious here”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth. Why is this hard for everyone to understand that he was happy then and just because of it he wants it back.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of you, I don’t know what you said and what he said, I don’t know what you did and what he did. But it doesn’t matter. Not to me. Because I could see how he looks at you like you hang the moon above his head and that just being in your presence makes him happy. I could follow his gaze tenderly scanning the crowd until it landed on you and I could see how his eyes sparkled with relief and excitement. I’m not going to judge you of what you want, but I want you to realize how lucky you are Timmy because despite obstacles Armie fell in love with you. Again. You learn all your life, you grow and change with every new experience. Life is full of new chances, don’t shut the door because you found something you like in one room. You never know what you can find in the other.”

 

* * *

 

It’s not easy, life is not easy and confronting your life choices is not easy either. Not only because you have to face your failures and unsuccessful attempts, but foremost because you ought to compartmentalize them, you have to break it down, piece by piece, decompose it and stitch it together again. Only then you’re able to clearly see and understand, to experience it deep in your core, to distill the essence and place it in every fiber of your body, to learn, to grow to transform.

When did he forget? When did stop? When did he become selfish and ignorant? How he twisted the truth, laid in his hands, to fit the ideas and thoughts of happiness carved in his mind? How hard is to be the one being hurt, to feel the ache spreading through your body, claiming every cell, the pain digging its claws into your tender flesh when there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. But did you ever stop for a bit, did you ever thought how hard it is to be the one causing pain to the person you love?! To have their wounded gaze incised forever in your mind?

‘ _I’m done loving you_ ’ it’s what he hears over and over again and the pain surges through him as waves moved by the wind in the thunder. Relentless and merciless. Crushing his body, bending him in half, twisting his insides, slashing his skin and ripping his heart.

He sits there, like a statute, holding now a burnt cigarette, his gaze fixed on the wall, trying to subdue the pain. That ache deep down in his core that he deserves. He was clutched to this previous life so tightly that he didn’t even see how he turned his presence into ashes. How he set the fire and watched it all burn, how his nostrils flared with the persistent odor of smoke. His own life turned to nothing by his bare hands.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t know what to do. He is restless, he wants to take it all back, but he knows he can’t. There are words he needs to say in the first place and then maybe, _just maybe_ , they will be able to move past this. He grips the pen in his hand, his knuckles almost white and he thinks if there is anything he could write to change Armie’s mind. Are there even words that could convince to give him one, _last_ chance?! He doesn’t know, he isn’t even sure if the possibility exists, but he has to try. He writes, baring his soul on the white paper sheet, filling it with words written in black ink, soundlessly praying for this to be enough. It’s purifying in some way, just placing all of it in a blank page, the contrast between the white sheet and black ink soothing, calming his mind. The tears rolling down his flushed cheeks, absently, almost effortlessly while he writes and writes and writes some more. Up until he doesn’t know if there’s anything else to say, but he does it nonetheless because there’s this need, this urge inside him to let this all out. Free it to the entire world to see.

The ink sinks to the paper, creating forms and shapes, created mindlessly by his own fingers. It moves up and down, twists and swirls, takes unforeseen turns, bloom and blossom like the most delicate petals that are crushed and shattered with the next word that settles on the sheet. All forms and configurations reshaping his life, reshaping the essence of his existence, rebuilding him whole, defregementalazing him piece by piece, cell by cell, fiber by fiber. To put him together again, to fill the shape of his body, of his heart with those pieces, to rub the edges, to twist the forms, to fit perfectly to the skeleton of his mind.

 

* * *

 

He’s fidgety, his legs bouncing up and down, his fingers tapping absentmindedly the music stuck in his head, the clock ticking loudly in the background. He starts to sweat and it’s not a good thing, he tries to get rid of the excessive moisture rubbing his palms against his jeans, but the anxiety is still rising inside him and Armie isn’t even here. When the hand of the clock moves exactly to 6 pm his heart starts pounding against his chest, but Armie doesn’t appear magically right on the clock and that just makes Timmy’s inside twist. What if he won’t show up? What if he changed his mind and doesn’t want to have anything to do with him? He’s - as always - very good at imagining all the worst case scenarios. The frustrated sight leaves his mouth when he tries to remain calm and composed, instead of driving himself crazy.

“Sorry. Traffic”

He just stands there, towering above him, making his breath stuck in his lungs. Because of how perfect he is. Smile tugs the corner of his lips, three days were just pure torture and now he’s finally home. But Armie doesn’t smile at him, he sits, all stiff and rigid, looking utterly uncomfortable and mad. Not that Timmy blames him for that, but it still makes his heart clench unpleasantly.

“I still don’t remember you”

And it hurts, it spreads like venom through his veins, going further and further until it reaches his heart, taking it on its claim. For a second he forgets how to breathe, how to fill his lungs with oxygen. It was a long time ago since he faced angry Armie.

It doesn’t help that his face is blank, drained from emotions as if he doesn’t feel anything. Because angry Armie is closed and isolated Armie and he hates himself even more for doing that to him. For making him feel loved and special, to later throw him in the box as a useless toy.

“Did you read my letter?”

Armie nods, hesitantly, making him shudder and sag. If he really did, then there’s nothing Timmy could do or say to change his mind now. Armie is really done loving him and no word spoken or written would have the power to erase his actions and make a difference.

“I did. But I think it’s always easier to write than speak. There’s no voice cutting you off, there are no eyes following every single word that pours out of your mouth, there are no sharp breaths, there are no screams. It’s easier … to write it down. As if it means nothing. Just convenient words, sentences found on the internet fitted nicely with the narrative. Yeah I did read your letter” he adds after a pause, silence stretching between them, Timmy somehow unable to utter a word, sensing maybe Armie is not finished. That maybe there’s something else he wants to say. _Praying_ he has something more to say, because if this is over … if this is really their end, he doesn’t want to jump, now knowing perfectly he was standing on the edge of precipice this entire time. There’s uncertainty expecting him there, looking at him with big, blank eyes, just waiting for him. Black surrounding it, enveloping in a tight embrace, making it unable to see what he can find there. There’s also fear, ghosting over him, slowly swirling doubts and questions, shadowing his gaze and mind. Saying oh-so-quietly ‘ _maybe it’s not worth it, maybe there’s nothing for you to gain_ ’. He knows this creature. He knows it well. Always slowly crawling up from the floor, catching just the sniff of anxiety, making its way up, probing fingers digging further, searching further, clawing onto soft flesh, leaving marks. It stays with you, hidden, in the back of every thought, making you look at yourself in the mirror and see more flaws. Feeding on your dread and panic, going deeper, bruising your soul, leaving red lines on its path. You don’t even realize it’s eating you from the inside at least not up until you’re a ghost of yourself, just a skeleton consumed by fear and horror, swallowed by your own deceitful mind.

Timmy blinks, sinking back into the present, he looks up and sees Armie’s eyes locked on him. His gaze is soft. _Hopeful_. For the first time possibly in his entire life, Timmy doesn’t hesitate. He jumps straight to the abyss, praying for Armie to catch him.

 

* * *

 

Have you ever woke up in the morning or after a very long nap, your mind foggy with sleep, thinking who you are, where you are and what’s happening. There is a formal term for that. When you wake up and you need just a few seconds to remember it all. It was not his case. He was lying on the bed, clean and fresh. Someone was holding his hand tightly, their hands soft and a little bit sweaty. Their long fingers around his own. His eyes now open, finding green pupils staring directly at him. _Their_ lips parted, _their_ breathing heavy. He felt how dry his mouth was, how unused his throat was. He still remembers how this all felt wrong. As there was something missing, something really important. Huge. But he couldn’t tell what it was. It felt almost like stepping into the sand, the knowing sensation of those small particles underneath your feet, taking one cautious step, the light burning spreading over, making you go quicker. Looking over your surroundings, looking and searching, wanting to find the missing part. Knowing deep inside that there’s one. Up to the point where you know, the missing part was the ocean, but not because you suddenly remembered, smacking your forehead in exasperation, because it was obvious. Just to finally know because someone told you what was missing. But you still couldn’t understand why.

He feels warm hands on his back, he closes his eyes, giving himself completely to the sensation. He always liked Timmy’s hands. Even when he couldn’t remember about that.

“That feels good” he whispers just enough for Timmy to hear.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

Timmy kisses his neck, spreading his fingers on his lower back, then proceeds to put them underneath the waistband of his shorts.

“This okay?”

A smile appears on his face, perhaps brighter than the sun, consuming him from the inside out, leaving only happiness. His mouth curves, his features softens and his face lights up, when he turns around, locking his eyes on Timmy. His fingers now on his hips, dipping into the flesh, there might be bruises at some point later. He licks his lips, there are so many things he wants ... he needs to say. But it all feels unimportant at this particular moment. Too much to just put out there. It’s special, this right now. Just between the two of them. They say silence is golden. In this particular moment, he understands that fully. Because even though he has so many things to say, there are no words conveying what he really feels. They are too simple, too shallow, so unmeaningful compared to what is burning inside him. He could use a huge amount of adjectives to describe it, how much he loves Timmy, how much he loves them. In the end, it would be just words, put together in the sentence without thinking, just because they suit. Just because someone long time ago wrote a poem that perhaps had a meaning, but now lost it and you use it, thinking that maybe it’s something deep. But you don’t know. Never really felt that way. You use those words, throwing them around like good mornings, thank yous or merry christmas. The meaning slowly fading as you repeat them all over again and in the end, they are insignificant to you as well, even though you didn’t understand them in the first place.

Some say that words hold power. Can destroy lives and countries, can give hope and love. It’s true. For many it is. But the silence screams louder than anything. Filling every corner, pounding restlessly in your ears, making you hear and listen to the things left unsaid, hanging in the air. The silence that can break and shatter. The silence that can build and share.

For you. In silence.

“Perfect”

His voice low and soft. Lips brushing, fingers touching.

With all the imperfections this is _perfect._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was thinking about adding some Epilogue with smut/fluff bc this story was more depressed than I intended at the beginning, lemme know what do you think about this idea.  
> Love you


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised so long time ago some smutty epilogue. So here it is. Sorry for taking that long, I'm sure no one remembers what this fic was even about.  
> Once again thank you for sticking with me and this story, for leaving kudos and comments, for believing in me in a way that I don't believe in myself. I hope to write more stories, let's see how it will work for me.  
> Love you all, hope you will like it, even if it's not super long.

_ He stares at his phone, eyebrows frowning slightly. He taps the code, hitting the right sequence without thinking, surprised that it unlocks with the first try. He guesses that his mind knows more that he thought at the beginning. Not every day you lose your memory. He swipes his thumb over the screen, to the left and then right. He just stares at the icons, not entirely sure where he wants to go with it. He didn’t really think that his phone might have answers his mind hasn’t. Still, he hoped to find something. Anything. And now … now he doesn’t know where to look. He opens up the contact list and scrolls up and down, seeing familiar and unfamiliar names. He checks the last phone calls and he sees 6 unanswered incoming comes from Timmy. He expected something more cliche and kitschy, maybe baby, the love of my life or hubby. His previous relationships were full of it, especially Melanie was into it. So much into that he still cringed every time he thought about her, it was like she didn’t know his name at all.  _

_ He goes to check text messages then, his eyes landing immediately on his conversation with Timmy and he doesn’t even think twice, just pops in and reads. This isn’t what he thought he’d find. They texted. And they texted a lot. Short and long messages, memes and other weird pics send pretty frequently. He finds a picture of weirdly shaped strawberry with text underneath it. ‘Strawbooty’. And he laughs because it’s something he’d appreciate seeing, even know with a  huge gap in his memory. He reads the messages in a haphazard manner, the odd feeling spreading in his belly, making his muscles clench. There’s warmth, deep down in his guts which he doesn’t understand. He closes the app and before he can stop himself pops into photos. There’s a lot of pictures, but the ones that catch his eyes are of him and Timmy. Touching, hugging, kissing. It’s the affection clear in Timmy’s eyes that leaves him breathless, how his eyes can’t stop looking at him in group photos, how he smiles softly. And perhaps it’s also because Armie can see his eyes glowing, sparkling with joy, his lips curled in a laugh. He has never seen himself like this. Happy. Relaxed. Unbothered. Every time there was something, at the back of his mind, clinging to him. He didn’t know what happened, how it happened, but Timmy made him feel special. Timmy made him feel loved.  _

_ His breath hitches when on his phone screen appears another photo. Quite different from the rest. Timmy is lying on his stomach on their king-size bed, his cheek nuzzling the pillow, his curls surrounding it like a crown. He’s naked, the lower half of his body covered in a white sheet, but Armie can still see the swell of his ass. The photo doesn’t reek of pornographic sexuality, it’s more … sensual, luxuriously erotic. The pale skin of his back dotted with moles, the brown curls softy lying on the pillow, the pink, slightly pouted mouth almost invisible in the whole picture, the rays of sun shyly peeking through the curtain somewhere to the right. It feels like a private, intimate moment and Armie doesn’t really know how the fuck he got that picture right. But he did. Because it’s perfect. _

 

* * *

 

The feeling of rightness is encompassing, filling every cell of his body, making him feel at peace with himself and his life. It’s not the first time. It has been in him for some time now, but stupidly, he realizes about it just now. Sitting on the grey couch between Armie’s legs, his back pressed to his husband’s chest, one of Armie’s arms wrapped over his shoulder, watching some old tv show. It’s quiet, cozy. Just the two of them, enveloped around each other, their breaths and scents mixing. He tilts his head back, resting it on Armie’s right shoulder, breathing deeply.  Back at the time, he thought he will never have it again. It’s not as it was, how it even could if so many things happened. But somehow they’ve found their own way, found the happiness they both craved in this new life that was shaped with their hands. It took him too long to realize that he only needed Armie. 

He smiles to himself, nuzzling Armie’s neck with the tip of his nose, shifting slightly to plant small kisses under his jawline, stubble prickling his lips, then moving up and peppering Armie’s neck and space under his earlobe.

“Timmy” Armie asks inquiring, tipping his head just so to the left, giving Timmy better access

“Yeah?”

“Whatcha doin'?” he breathes this time, his lips parting on their own accord

“This and that” Timmy responds between kisses, his blunt nails scraping the fabric on Armie’s thighs. It doesn't last for long, Timmy simply craves for more. Perhaps he still didn’t quite satiate his desire for Armie or he simply never will. He silently hopes for the latter. He swings his leg over Armie’s thighs, sitting on his lap, planting his knees on either side of Armie’s hips and finally coming face to face with his husband. 

“Hi you”

“Hi yourself” Armie responds, a soft smile curling his lips, enough to see his cute, pointy canines. Timmy grins at him, before leaning and resting his forehead on Armie’s. 

“I love you,” he says because it’s that simple. That easy. There aren’t any second thoughts on the back of his mind, any doubts or insecurities. Perhaps he only needed time to understand it fully. He brushes their noses together, sharing some eskimo kisses before he dives further down and finally claims Armie’s mouth. It’s sweet and gentle at first. Lips moving and opening, tongues stroking, caressing. He moans in pleasure when Armie shoves his tongue purposefully into his mouth. It doesn’t take long before things get more heated and messy. Timmy tilts his head back, baring the milky expanse of his throat. Armie breathes him in, the earthy scent of him, the subtle hint of aftershave (even though he still doesn’t have to shave often) tingling at his skin. He licks wet stripe from the dip of his throat up to Timmy’s jawline, before putting his lips on Timmy’s Adam apple and sucking, creating the first of many hickeys he wants to put on Timmy’s lithe body. Soft whimper leaves Timmy’s parted lips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Armie’s sides, holding onto when Armie keeps on peppering his skin with licks and kisses, when he dips his tongue under his collarbone and then goes up to the underside of his jaw, leaving a wet path behind. 

“Want you” he mumbles straight to Timmy’s ear, biting not so gently on his earlobe. Timmy takes his head between his hands and kisses him again, not even waiting for Armie to go along with his plan before shoving his tongue inside this perfect wetness. He starts to roll his hips in constant motion, once in a while bringing their half-hard cocks to grind against each other, sending short waves of pleasure through their nerve endings. Armie’s big, warm hands sneak under the material of his jumper, caressing his skin with only his fingertips in slow up and down movements. They both know where this is going, but there’s no rush in their motions. It’s easy. To just let things happen on their own time, mapping their bodies with hands, lips, eyes. To lick and bite. To devour each other's mouths in a never-ending kiss, that goes and goes and goes. After what feels like hours, but it was barely a few minutes, Armie rakes his jumper up to his armpits and Timmy just has to stop kissing him to get rid of it. They throw it somewhere behind them, without any care, doing the same instantly with Armie sweater. When they are finally free from upper body clothing, they go back to exploring. Fingers, hands, and even lips trailing over naked skin. 

“You smell so fucking good” Timmy whispers, rubbing his cheek against Armie’s stubbled one, enjoying how his skin warms under the movements, sensing the red blossoming there. He seals his hands in Armie’s hair, pulling the golden threads with his fingers, cherishing their softness, their texture, how they slip away from his slight grip “I wanna ride you” is next what slips from his mouth, accentuated by his hips, languidly rolling on Armie’s lap. 

“Fuck… you can’t just say things like that” Armie groans, his hands now persistent presence around Timmy’s hips, fingers sinking into the flesh, oval-shape bruises blooming under the tips. Timmy grins at him mischievously, his curls a messy crown on his scalp, his lips swollen from kisses and biting, shining from the spit in the soft light, his milky skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, his cheeks coated in pink blush that goes down, painting the skin of his torso stopping just above his hardened nipples. Armie doesn’t waste more time, putting his lips on them and sucking, lavishing the buds with his tongue, licking and swirling, Timmy clutching to him even harder, his fingers playing with the elastic band of Armie’s boxers, slipping behind and caressing the swell of his ass, before taking the firm globes in his hands and squeezing, his pinkie brushing over Armie’s crack.

“We should get rid of those” Armie pants, his head tipped back, resting on the couch cushions, trying to regain his breath. Timmy gently slips from his lap and stands, his legs feeling like jelly. He removes his pants with his boxers in a swift motion, kicking them somewhere to the floor. He doesn’t waste more time, he pops open the button of Armie’s jeans and slide them down his hairy legs, not able to resist himself Timmy scratches his blunt nails over Armie’s thighs, eliciting toe-curling shiver.

“Timmy” Armie whimpers pleadingly, making him smile mischievously before snatching away the underwear and leaving them both perfectly naked. He grabs the sachet of lube out of his pocket, before climbing Armie’s bare thighs once again, relishing in the sensation of Armie’s leg hair tickling his skin.

“Next time” Armie breathes, his eyes hungrily watching Timmy’s movement, how he opens the small plastic container, how he pours the lube on his hand, how he coats his fingers generously with thick substances and reaches behind himself, wriggling a little while finding his opening “I’m gonna take my sweet time with opening you up. First with my tongue, then with my fingers and when you will be an incoherent mess I’ll breach you with my cock” 

“Nngh” Timmy whimpers wantonly, shoving two of his fingers inside his pucker hole, scissoring them, trying to find that sweet spot that will electrify all of his nerve endings and ease the burn of stretching. He jumps upright when one of his fingertips barely brushes over his prostate, Armie’s fingers bruising his hips, where he holds him to not let him fall. Timmy doesn’t wait any longer, efficiently covers Armie’s hard-on with remains of lube and lines it up with his hole.

At first, there’s burn and stretch, like always because Timmy won’t be ever prepared of how full Armie makes him. They moan in unison when all of Armie’s length is inside him, they stay like this for some time, there’s no rush, just the exquisite feeling of being connected in the most intimate way. Timmy moves first, undulating his hips, going up and down, feeling the burn and stretch being replaced by pleasure, his synapses on overwork, because there’s this crushing feeling in him to chase his own release. They move in tandem, it’s sweet and gentle, touching, kissing, whispering. How long it is he isn’t sure, because it isn’t about the time, it is about the feeling, about them being in the same place, moving against each other, lazily and languidly, sparkles of pleasure tickling their naked skin, shivers running down their bodies. Timmy comes first, with Armie’s hand loosely wrapped around his cock, pumping it up and down, the movements synchronized with his thrust. When Timmy grunts and white strips of cum land on their stomach, Armie moves his hand to grip Timmy’s hips firmly and starts pounding into him with abandon, chasing his own climax that arrives a few thrusts later. Hips stuttering, he empties himself inside Timmy’s tight heat with his eyes shut and his lips parted, the final moan sounding much like ‘Timmyyyy’. 

“Love you” he whispers

Timmy smiles to himself, nuzzling his neck and leaving few more sloppy kisses. 

This is his life now. And he wouldn’t want anything different than this.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @whaitis-inside on tumblr if you want to come and say hi


End file.
